FROM   THE  LIBRARY  OF 
REV.   LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON,  D.  D. 


BEQUEATHED   BY   HIM   TO 

THE   LIBRARY  OF 

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WRITTEN 


DURING  MORE  THAN  FORTY  YEARS 


BY      SS 


3|o{m  ©enrp  IDopfems. 


JAMES      POTT 
12  Astor  Place, 

NEW   YORK. 
I883. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1883,  by 

JOHN   HENRY   HOPKINS, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


Electrotyped  by  Smith  &  McDougal,  82  Beekman  St.,  New  York. 


This  Humble  Volume  is  Gratefully 
DEDICATED 

TO 

MISS    SUSAN    EMILY    HALL 

AND 

MRS.  J.  DUNDAS  LIPPINCOTT, 

Through  whose  Generous  Kindness  alone  it  is 

placed  within  the  reach  op  the 

many  other  friends  op 

THE  AUTHOR. 


Preface- 


"TTTHEN  the  generous  kindness  of  the  two  dear  Friends 
*  ™  to  whom  this  book  is  dedicated  rendered  its  pub- 
lication possible,  it  was  not  easy  to  decide  what  should  be 
included.  Had  it  been  only  for  the  reading  Public,  pure 
and  simple,  I  should  have  omitted  many  things,  especially 
some  of  those  written  in  earlier  years.  But  there  is  noth- 
ing in  which  the  Public  is  less  likely  to  take  an  interest, 
than  in  a  collection  of  verse,  such  as  this.  It  seems  more 
reasonable  therefore — as  the  publication  itself  is  due  to  a 
rare  act  of  friendship — to  consider  mainly  what  would  be 
welcome  to  an  unusually  large  circle  of  relatives  and 
friends,  who  may  be  specially  gratified  by  those  very  parts 
of  it  which  the  general  Public  would  consider  unworthy 
of  notice. 

The  first  and  longest  poem — The  Mermaid  Isle — was 
begun  when  I  was  but  fifteen,  and  finished  before  I  was 
twenty.  This  will  excuse  some  of  its  crudities,  and  its 
plagiarisms,  conscious  and  unconscious.  It  appeared  in 
the  Knickerbocker  Magazine,  as  did  many  other  pieces  now 
reproduced,  and  some  others  that  are  not.  My  dear 
Mother's  Christian  name,  Melusina,  is  strongly  asso- 
ciated, in  German  Literature,  with  the  old  popular  tale 
of  Die  Sclwene  Melusina,  who  was  a  Mermaid ;  and  this 
gave  me  an  inducement  to  write  about  Mermaids,  which, 
to  a  youthful  fancy,  was  irresistible.  It  is  the  only  thing, 
moreover,  in  this  volume,  for  which  I  ever  received  any 


VI  PREFACE. 

"consideration."  Mr.  Lewis  Gaylord  Clarke— the  genial 
and  sympathetic  Editor  of  the  Knickerbocker  in  those 
days — gave  me,  for  this  my  first  venture,  the  works  of 
Schiller  and  Tieck,  in  three  massive  octavo  volumes,  in 
German  (double  columns),  to  encourage  me  in  mastering 
that  noble  language. 

The  Dream  of  a  Child  was  a  real  dream,  that  came  to  me 
at  least  as  early  as  my  ninth  year, — perhaps  earlier.  It 
left  an  indelible  impression.  The  trees  mentioned — the 
locust  and  the  mulberry — grew  near  the  door  of  my 
Father's  house  in  Allegheny  City,  near  Pittsburgh.  The 
place  is  now  known  as  "  Killbuck." 

The  Bees  of  Bt.  Simon's,  and  the  verses  following  it, 
were  published  in  Savannah,  with  some  much  longer 
pieces  written  by  my  oldest  sister,  Mrs.  Charlotte  Emily 
Fay,  in  deference  to  the  urgency  of  an  enthusiastic  friend, 
who  thought  that  "  the  profits  "  would  be  something  hand- 
some "for  Missions."  Of  course,  the  only  result  was  a 
dead  loss  of  the  entire  cost  of  publication. 

As  to  Hughie's  Alarm,  and  the  Anticipation  of  the  Lam- 
beth Conference,  I  would  respectfully  refer  the  Reader  to 
the  Notes. 

In  the  lines  addressed  To  my  Classmates,  I  have  ventured 
to  use  the  Hexameter,  and  in  two  very  brief  trifles  the 
Hexameter  and  Pentameter.  The  trouble  with  classical 
metres  in  English  is,  that  we  have  not  two  kinds  of  sylla- 
bles only — the  long  and  the  short — but  our  syllables  are  so 
varied  as  to  be  of  three  or  four  perceptible  differences  of 
length.  I  have  tried  carefully  to  approximate,  at  least, 
the  classic  feeling  in  these  verses.  To  substitute  mere 
accent  for  quantity  in  Classic  metres,  is,  to  my  ear, 
barbarous. 

In  a  little  volume,  entitled  "  Carols,  Hymns,  and  Sojigs" 


PREFACE.  vii 

the  third  edition  of  which  appeared  last  year,  will  be 
found  quite  a  number  of  the  Songs  and  nearly  all  the 
Hymns  which  are  reprinted  in  this  volume.  There  they 
are  all  given  with  music.  But  as  the  circulation  of  that 
last  edition  has  been  very  limited,  the  words  alone  are  here 
reproduced.  The  Carols,  however,  are  entirely  omitted, 
being  almost  inseparable  from  their  music. 

The  Golden  Wedding  Song  was  sung,  by  a  chorus  of 
the  Children  and  Grand -children,  at  the  Golden  Wedding 
celebration  of  my  Parents,  in  1866. 

The  beautiful  lines  entitled  Alone,  are  by  one  of  the  dear 
Friends  to  whom  the  Volume  is  dedicated,  and  bear  her 
initials  at  their  close.  A  copy  of  them  was  sent  by  her — 
only  after  earnest  and  repeated  importunity — to  my  maiden 
Aunt,  Miss  Amelia  Muller,  who  from  the  beginning 
was,  in  our  family,  next  in  nearness  and  dearness  to  my 
Mother  herself,  and  who  has  now  gone  to  her  rest.  She 
read  them  over  so  frequently  that,  after  some  years,  they 
were  well-nigh  ready  to  drop  in  fragments;  and  then  a 
fresh  transcript  was  made  for  her  by  my  Mother.  Asso- 
ciations like  these  make  me  peculiarly  grateful  for  the 
kind  permission  to  insert  the  poem  in  this  Volume. 

As  to  the  Hymns  written  for  German  Chorals — in  some 
of  which  I  have  appropriated  or  modified  the  translations 
of  others — I  must  refer  to  the  Notes  for  details,  which 
would  hardly  be  suitable  here.  To  naturalize  among  us 
even  a  few  of  those  noble  Chorals  would  add,  most  desir- 
ably, to  the  breadth,  and  depth,  and  strength,  of  our 

American  Church  Music. 

J.  H.  HOPKINS. 

WlLLIAMSPORT,   PA. 

January  9,  1883. 


!■ 


Contents. 


PAGE 

THE  MERMAID   ISLE 7 

The  Dream  of  a  Child 40 

THE  WITCH-QUEEN 45 

The  Bees  of  St.  Simon's 55 

The  Child  and  the  Bee 57 

"  Cupidon  d  la  Chasse  " 59 

The  Voyage  of  Life 60 

Athirst  for  Love 62 

The  Desert  of  the  World— An  Allegory 65 

WILLIE  AND   ANNIE— A  Ballad 68 

Hughte's  Alarm— An  Allegory 77 

A  Poet  in  the  Dog-days 81 

EPIGRAMS.     A  Literary  Thief— From  the  French. . .  83 

Honorable  Satisfaction 83 

To  the  Man  of  the  World 84 

Balnea,  Vina,  Venus  (Hexameter  and  Pentameter) 84 

Aunt  Susan's  Belt 84 

On  "Rubeta" 84 

On  Dr.  G 85 

On  the  Same 85 

President  Day's  Prayers 85 

Summer  Dancing 86 

"Temperance  Dick" 86 

Humanitarian  Philosophers 87 


b  CONTENTS, 

AGE 

Anticipation  op  the  Lambeth  Conference 88 

Opening  op  the  Crimean  War  :    the  Hope  of  the 

Oriental  Church 91 

Second  Tear  op  the  Crimean  War  :  The  Crescent 

and  the  Cross 95 

Political  Preaching 101 

The  Sepoy  Rebellion 107 

The  Opening  op  the  East,  and  Arabs  at  Home... .  Ill 

Like  all  True  Souls 115 

To  my  Cigar 116 

As  Steals  the  Brook 118 

For  the  Tombstone  of  a  Poor  Man 118 

SONNETS.     Shaded  Flowers 119 

To  an  Old  Horse 120 

To  a  Sea-SheU 121 

The  Twin  Live-Oaks  at  Beverley 122 

Insanity 123 

To  my  Classmates  (Hexameter) 124 

SONGS.    Falling  Leaves 128 

The  Little  Doves 129 

Spring 130 

The  Two  Lights 132 

The  Bird-Cage 133 

Moonlight  on  the  River 134 

The  Lullaby  Serenade 136 

The  Village  Good-Night 137 

Love  and  Oysters 139 

Sunshine  and  Shadow 140 

At  Dawn  of  Day 141 

The  Wind-Harp 142 


CONTENTS.  C 

PAGE 

Wait  God's  Time,  Love 143 

Weep  on 144 

Vanity 145 

The  Silent  River 146 

Down  the  Wood-Path 148 

The  Golden  Thread 149 

The  Leper 151 

Golden  Wedding  Song 152 

Union  Song 154 

HYMN  ON  THE   PASSION 156 

Dream  of  the  Wife  of  Pontius  Pilate 167 

LIBERTY.     Delivered  before  the  Literary  Societies  of 

the  University  of  Vermont 171 

Sunshine  on  the  Sea 190 

The  Lesser  and  the  Greater  Light 192 

Songs  of  the  Heart  (Hexameter  and  Pentameter) 193 

The  Mississippi  River 194 

Benvenue 199 

On  the  Death  of  a  Daughter 203 

The  Old  Pine  Tree 205 

No  More 208 

"Blessed  are  the  Dead  who  die  in  the  Lord" 210 

On  my  Ordination  to  the  Diaconate.    213 

To  my  Vine 214 

Alone,  by"  S.  E.  H." 217 

TnE  Sun 219 

Seeds 226 

Sparrows  in  Winter 236 

Harebell  Blue 238 

The  High  Bridge  at  Harlem 242 


d  CONTENTS. 

PAG* 

HYMNS. 

Jerusalem,  my  Home 252 

In  Honor  of  the  Theotokos 254 

Come  with  us,  O  Blessed  Jesus 256 

When  from  the  East 258 

Our  Lord  is  risen  to-day 259 

Jesus  lives !  O  mighty  wonder 261 

Christ  our  King  to  Heav'n  ascendeth 264 

Blow  on,  Thou  mighty  Wind 265 

Corn,  Wine,  and  Oil 267 

War-Song  of  the  Christian  Soldier 269 

Processional  of  the  Christian  Pilgrimage 270 

Processional  for  the  Reunion  of  Christendom.  273 
National  Hymn 276 

HYMNS  FOR  GERMAN  CHORALS. 

High  Tower  and  Stronghold  : — 

Gin1  fcfle  S3urg 278 

Slumberers,  wake : — 

SBadjet  cuf 280 

Eternity!  Eternity!— 

D  (Etttgfeti!  D  GwtgtetU 282 

O  Come,  Eternal  Wisdom  : — 

®ro§  iff,  §err,  beinc  ©itte 283 

O  God  of  Love : — 

%%,  ®ott  unb  £err 286 

Hosanna,  Hosanna,  Hosanna ! — 

Sefwa,  Serosa,  3e|o»a 288 

O  Jesu,  my  Saviour : — 

m  Scftt,  SDein  ©terpen 290 

Cheist  is  arisen  : — 

<£$rifl  if*  erjknben 291 


CONTENTS.  e 

PAGS 

Thou  art  King  of  Glory  :— 

ermuntre  bi$ 292 

O  Fatheb,  Fount  of  Deity: — 

5iaein  ©ott  in  bcr  W  frt  €$r 294 

Praise  to  the  Father  :— 

Cofce  ben  £erren 295 

Hear  our  prayer,  O  blessed  Lord  1— 

Siebfler  Scfu,  roir  ffnb  $ier 296 

Jesus,  my  Redeemer,  lives  : — 

3efu$,  tneine  3u»crfl#t 298 

Thou  shalt  rise: — 

2tuferfre$n,  \a  auferfle^n  torirft  bu 299 

Dayspring  of  Eternity: — 

2Korgenglan}  ber  Saigfett 300 

Though  Faith  at  times  may  waver : — 

2Kag  audj  bie  £iebe  tteinen 302 

How  bright  appears  our  Morning  Star ! — 

2Bie  f$on  leudjft  un$  ber  3Jtorgcnflern 303 

Salvation  comes : — 

©3  tft  bag  £eU  un$  fommen  $er 305 

Jestj,  Fount  of  Pleasure  : — 

3efu,  nteine  greube 307 

Jerusalem,  high  tower  thy  glorious  walls : — 

Serufalem,  bu  ^odjgefcauie  <3iabt 308 

NOTES.    Hughie's  Alarm 311 

Anticipations  of  the  Lambeth  Conference 313 

Hymns  for  German  Chorals 317 


Che  s©ermato  3lsle. 


The  Nereid  Sisters  and  their  Queen 

In  grace  earth's  fairest  daughters  they  excel ; 

Pure  undecaying  beauty  is  their  lot ; 

Their  voices  into  liquid  music  swell, 

Thrilling  each  pearly  cleft  and  sparry  grot, 

The  undisturbed  abodes  where  sea-nymphs  dwell ! 

WORDSWOBTH. 


PART    I, 


Lord  Eustace  lay  on  his  dying  bedT 
His  death  -was  nigh  at  hand ; 

And  he  had  sent  for  his  brother  dear, 
From  his  home  in  a  distant  land. 

"  Brother,  between  us  now,  for  years, 
Have  world-wide  oceans  rolled ; 

Yet  my  heart  tells  me  thine  is  true ; 

And  what  can  a  dying  brother  do, 

But  turn  to  the  boyhood's  love  he  knew 
So  strong  and  pure  of  old  ? 

11  Motherless  has  my  Mary  been ; 
Nor  longer  in  this  earthly  scene 

May  I  her  father  be : 
Oh  be  thou  a  father  unto  her, 

And  God  will  prosper  thee  ! " 


THE  MERMAID  ISLE. 

Sir  Gerald  took  the  solemn  trust, 

Low  kneeling  by  his  side : 
In  joy  serene  the  father  smiled, 
He  blessed  his  brother,  kissed  his  child, 

And  then  contented  died. 

Like  Winter  old,  with  wind  and  cold, 

The  sire  had  passed  away ; 
But  after  his  long  and  dreary  reign 
He  left,  to  cheer  the  earth  again, 
A  maiden,  blushing  in  excess 
Of  half-unconscious  loveliness ; 
A  blooming  bud,  or  a  budding  flower, 
Yet  bright  with  the  tears  of  a  passing  shower, 

In  the  year's  youth,  sweet  young  May. 

The  heiress  sole  was  she  of  all 

Her  father's  wide  domain : 
From  the  castle  that  by  the  sea  did  stand, 
Far  inward  stretched  her  fertile  land  ; 

And  all  the  wide  champ  ain, — 
Still  scattering  verdure  as  they  ran, — 

Did  wide  streams  intervein, 
That  freighted  flowed  through  meadows  green, 

Or  fields  of  yellow  grain, 
Through  woods  where  spotted  deer  are  seen, 
And  rustic  hamlets  peep  between 

High  hills,  or  dot  the  plain. 

Sir  Gerald  was  a  tall,  gaunt  man, 
With  dark  and  sunken  eye  ; 


TEE  MERMAID  ISLE. 

His  sallow  cheek  for  years  had  burned 

Beneath  a  southern  sky ; 
And  oft,  when  wandering  alone, 
Fair  Mary's  fields  he  gazed  upon, 

And  welcomed  silently 
The  thought,  that  these  were  all  his  own 
(For  the  next  of  kin  the  prize  would  win), 

Should  Mary  chance  to  die. 

The  unforbidden  thought  returned, 

The  young  desire  grew  strong, 
Until  within  his  heart  said  he, 
"  Why  should  not  chance  be  certainty  ? " 
God  shield  the  maid  from  wrong ! 


There's  sickness  within  those  castle  walls- 
Soft  is  the  menials'  tread ; 
Hushed  is  the  lute  in  Mary's  bower, 
Untimely  fades  the  fair  May-flower ! 
And  paid  by  the  good  Sir  Gerald's  gold, 
A  skilful  crone,  lean,  withered,  and  old, 
Is  watching  by  her  bed. 

And  kind  Sir  Gerald  anxiously, 

And  many  times  a  day, 
Exclaims,  "  God  grant  she  may  not  die ! " 
Then  upward  turns  his  glistening  eye, 
His  pale  lips  moving  silently, 

And  sighing,  seems  to  pray. 


10  THE  MERMAID  ISLE. 

But  youth  proves  stronger  than  disease ; 
And  to  give  good  Sir  Gerald  ease, 
The  crisis  past,  she  will  at  last 

Remain  among  the  living. 
His  anxious  prayers  are  answered  now, 
But  gloom  broods  over  Sir  Gerald's  brow 
Why  do  his  grateful  knees  not  bow 

In  a  devout  thanksgiving  ? 


'Twas  a  boding  night,  no  moon,  no  stars ; 

But  a  vast  rayless  cloud 
With  breathless  calm  o'erhung  the  heavens, 

As  with  a  sable  shroud. 

'Twas  in  the  small  hours  of  the  night, 

The  early  night  of  morn, 
Three  men  stole  through  the  castle  hall 
Up  the  winding  stair ;  and  one  is  tall — 
Hush !  hear  how  whisperingly  he  spoke ! 
And  he  wears,  meseems,  the  cap  and  cloak 

That  are  by  Sir  Gerald  worn. 

The  old  crone  was  there  at  the  top  of  the  stair : 
She  opened  the  door  and  beckoned  them  in 
With  her  long  finger,  crooked  and  thin  : 
Lady  Mary  fair  in  her  beauty  there 

Lay  sunk  in  dreamless  sleep ; 
The  careful  nurse  had  mingled  up 
An  opiate  in  her  sleeping-cup, 

That  her  slumber  might  be  deep. 


THE  MERMAID  ISLE.  11 

Few  words  and  low  they  spake,  and  what 

They  did  I  may  not  say  ; 
But  three  there  were  that  entered  there, 

And  four  that  went  away : 
And  none  but  the  crone  sat  there  alone, 

In  the  bower,  at  dawn  of  day. 

An  holy  anchoret,  some  tell, 

Who  built  his  solitary  cell 

On  the  neighboring  crag's  o'erhanging  height, 

Did  hear  strange  sounds  on  that  calm  night, 

As  he  said  his  vigil  prayer. 
Footsteps,  and  many  a  hurried  word, — 
And  a  dull  plashing  sound  was  heard 
Re-echoed  from  the  wave  below ; 
But  little  did  that  good  man  know 

What  doings  foul  were  there ! 


There's  mourning  within  those  castle  walls, 

And  funeral  preparation ; 
And  meek  and  gentle  as  a  lamb, 
Sir  Gerald's  face  reveals  a  calm 

And  chastened  resignation. 

As  the  evening  shades  come  glooming  on, 
While  vesper  bells  are  ringing, 

In  solemn  tones  from  the  altar  rolls 

The  requiem  for  departed  souls, 
That  holy  priests  are  singing. 


12  THE  MERMAID  ISLE. 

In  the  church-yard  a  sable  pall 

Upon  a  coffin  lies, 
And  many  a  tear  upon  the  bier 

Falls  from  Sir  Gerald's  eyes. 

Earth  rattles  on  the  coffin-lid ; 

And  then,  to  close  the  scene, 
Fresh  flowers,  untimely  plucked,  are  thrown 
To  die,  like  her,  untimely,  on 

The  little  mound  of  green. 


PART    II. 


The  sun  sank  down  behind  the  sea, 
The  evening-star  shone  soon, 

And  o'er  the  eastern  hill-top  trees 
Up  rose  the  round  red  moon. 

There  sat  a  youthful  Fisherman, 

Upon  a  rock  sat  he, 
The  salt  tears  trickled  down  his  face, 

And  fell  into  the  sea. 

Ere  morning  dawn  he  took  his  seat 

To  throw  the  baited  hook : 
But  listless  o'er  the  rock  he  leant 
Forgetful  of  his  first  intent ; 


THE  MERMAID  ISLE.  13 

And  there  he  sat  till  eventide, 
His  rod  still  idle  by  his  side, 
Nor  any  fish  he  took. 

But  ever  and  anon  the  tears 

Were  streaming  from  his  eyes, 
And  sobs  were  bursting  from  his  breast, 

And  deep-drawn  heavy  sighs. 

Oft-time  he  moaned,  and  moved  his  lips 

In  motion  still  the  same, 
And  oft  he  murmured  o'er,  in  tears, 

Some  well-beloved  name. 

All  yesternight  his  weary  feet 

The  church-yard  grass  had  trod ; 
A  new-made  grave  lies  under  the  yews — 

Who  sleeps  beneath  the  sod  ? 


From  the  west  waves  where  the  sun  went  down, 

Over  the  blushing  deep 
A  rosy  mist  comes  rolling  on, 

With  slow  majestic  sweep. 

And  from  the  mist  afar,  soft  sounds 

Of  music  sweet  are  heard, 
Half  like  a  vocal  summer-wind, 

Half  like  a  warbling  bird. 

Slow  winding  through  the  mist,  along 
The  shore  the  cadence  rung ; 


14  THE  MERMAID  ISLE. 

The  Fisherman  listened,  and  this  was  the  song 
The  gentle  mermaids  sung : 

ifcermaftrs*    Sons, 


"  O  comb  with  me,  young  Fisherman ! 

My  pearl-boat  waits  for  thee ; 
Thy  Mary  sleeps  with  me  afar, 

Beyond  the  deep  green  sea ; 
In  the  Mermaid  Isle,  the  charmed  isle, 

Far,  far  beyond  the  moon-lit  sea ! 


"  She's  sleeping  in  her  beauty-bower, 
And  waiting  there  for  thee ; 

O  come  with  me,  young  Fisherman, 
Beyond  the  deep  green  sea ; 

To  the  Mermaid  Isle,  the  charmed  isle, 
Far,  far  beyond  the  moon-lit  sea  1 " 


In  long-drawn  plaintive  notes  the  song 

Over  the  waters  stole ; 
The  floating  melody  it  sank 

Like  hope  into  his  soul. 

The  rosy  mist  rolled  slowly  od, 
"Wide  spreading  more  and  more ; 

Till  it  circled  round  the  Fisherman 
As  he  lay  on  the  shore. 

The  pearl-boat  touched  the  rock.     He  saw 

Three  faces  round  the  prow, 
And,  peering  through  the  rosy  mist, 

Dim  shone  each  moony  brow. 


THE  MERMAID  ISLE.  15 

He  heard  the  nearing  music  well 
Its  witching  invitation  tell, 
And  heaving  with  its  hidden  spell 
He  saw  each  snowy  bosom  swell, 

Saw  curved  each  warbling  throat : 
And  while  he  listened  to  the  song, 

He  slid  into  the  boat. 

Then  over  his  head  up  rose  the  mist, 

Hiding  the  silver  moon : 
But  auother  light,  more  softly  bright, 

Relieved  the  darkness  soon. 

Moon-rainbows  shone  about  the  boat, 

Changeful  as  sparkling  foam  ; 
Circle  on  circle  round  they  rose, 

And  formed  an  arching  dome. 

They  flitted  and  twined  around  each  other, 

Like  the  flashes  of  northern  light ; 
And  the  dome,  mast-high,  sailed  over  the  boat,. 
Above  and  around,  though  it  touched  it  not : 

It  was  a  wondrous  sight ! 

Under  the  dome,  on  the  circled  tide, 
With  tints  reflected,  multiplied, 

The  dancing  colors  played  ; 
It  seemed  the  waving  waters  were 

Of  molten  rainbows  made. 

Cleaving  the  many-tinted  wave 
The  choral  mermaids  swam, 


16  THE  MERMAID  ISLE. 

Still  chanting  slow  in  sweeter  strain 
Their  charmed  song — the  while  did  reign 
O'er  the  sea  a  brooding  calm. 

Without  a  sail,  or  an  oar,  or  a  helm, 

How  fast  the  boat  did  fly  ! 
Yet  the  waves  were  silent  before  its  prow, 
And  the  air  it  breathed  not  on  his  brow 

As  he  passed  it  swiftly  by ! 

A  pilot  there  was  below  the  wave, 

A  pilot  below  the  keel ; 
He  spun  through  the  sea  like  a  bird  through  the  air 
And  the  light  pearl-boat  on  his  back  he  bare ; 
J^or  breath  nor  motion,  in  air  or  ocean, 

The  Fisherman  could  feel. 


PART    III. 


The  boat  speeds  on  !    The  boat  speeds  on ! 

No  boat  e'er  sped  so  well : 
Hark !  o'er  the  still  sea,  soft  and  slow, 

The  Triton  winds  his  shell. 

Then  swifter  sped  the  pearly  barque  ; 

And  soon  the  fisherman  wist 
That  the  nearing  shore  was  dimly  seen 

Through  the  folds  of  the  rainbow  mist. 


THE  MERMAID   ISLE.  17 

Sounded  again  the  Triton's  shell : 
The  dome  then  rising,  wide  did  swell, 

More  dim  the  rainbows  grew, 
Till  fading  and  expanding  thin, 

They  melted  from  the  view. 

And  naught  was  left  but  the  rosy  mist, 

Transparent  as  the  air ; 
Yet  it  hid  the  Mermaid  Isle,  as  if 

No  island  had  been  there. 

Naught  but  the  glimmering  moon-lit  sea 

Now  met  his  wondering  eye  ; 
Though  a  sound  in  the  air  did  seem  to  tell 

The  ear  that  land  was  nigh. 

The  Triton  wound  his  shell  again, 

'Twas  louder  than  before ; 
And  doubling  echoes  caught  the  sound. 

Answering  as  from  a  shore. 

The  three  mer-maidens  ceased  their  song 

At  the  Triton's  third  long  peal ; 
Then  rose  the  spirit  before  the  prow, 

That  had  swum  below  the  keel. 

A  thin  white  wand  was  in  his  hand, 

And,  when  he  rose  to  the  air, 
Naught  was  around  but  the  boundless  sea 
As  vacant  as  eternity ! 


18  THE  MERMAID  ISLE. 

Silence  was  there  in  the  empty  air, 
The  moon-lit  waves  looked  chill  and  bare, 
Nor  sight  nor  sonnd  was  there. 

He  touched  with  his  wand  the  Fisherman's  eyes. 

Oh,  he  had  been  blind  before ! 
The  air  was  filled  with  living  things, 
With  spirits  on  their  whirring  wings, 
And  the  sea  was  bright  with  glancing  fins, 
And  faces  were  there  of  Undines  fair, 
With  amber  decking  their  sea-green  hair ; 
And  their  azure  eyes  were  all  turned  with  surprise 

To  the  stranger  the  pearl-boat  bore. 

Still  deeper  down  were  other  forms, 

For  the  sea  seemed  as  clear  as  the  air ; 
Half  in  the  dark  lurked  the  dusky  shark, 
The  "  slid  slimy  eels  "  glided  over  the  strand, 
And  the  star-fish  spangled  the  "  ribbed  sea-sand ;" 
Rocked  on  the  sea-swells,  the  porpoise  rolled, 
And  a  thousand  bright  fishes  of  silver  and  gold 
Peopled  the  waters  there. 

Before  him  was  the  Mermaid-Queen 

Enthroned  in  royal  state ; 
She  sat  on  the  back  of  a  monster- whale, 
Who  spouted  two  jets  of  water,  high 
O'er  her  head,  like  two  twin  rainbows  pale 
On  the  sun-shower  clouds  of  the  evening  sky : 

'Neath  such  canopy  she  sate. 


THE  MERMAID  ISLE,  19 

Four  "  Dolphins  bared  their  backs  of  gold," 

All  under  her  throne  of  pearl, 
And  the  sea-weed  green  in  festoons  was  seen 

O'er  its  sides  and  back  to  curl. 

Behind  and  above  the  rainbow  sheen, 
The  serpent  of  the  sea  was  seen 

To  rear  his  gleaming  crest ; 
And  the  Kraken,  with  his  thousand  arms 
Stretched  up  to  heaven  for  thunder-storms — 
For  many  a  rood  outspread  was  he, 
Like  a  forest  in  the  barren  sea, 

Like  an  army  of  giants  at  rest. 

Suspended  o'er  the  Kraken's  form, 
Was  seen  the  shadowy  Spirit  of  Storm 

Inwrapped  in  growing  gloom ; 
Half- veiled  behind  a  lowering  cloud, 
Whence  dull  infrequent  flashes  rise 
As  if  sleepily  winking  his  lightning-eyes, 
And  muttering,  from  his  sable  shroud, 
A  sound  as  if  he  were  sunk  in  sleep, 
While  the  moonlight  lay  on  the  placid  deep ; 
Yet,  even  in  dreams,  on  mischief  bent, 
Stretched  his  black  giant  jaws,  intent 
To  swallow  up  the  calm  still  moon 

Within  his  yawning  womb  ! 

Every  spirit  that  roamed  the  deep 

Or  lived  in  ocean  air, 
Every  fish  and  every  bird, 
That  eye  hath  seen  or  ear  hath  heard, 


20  THE  MERMAID  ISLE. 

And  a  thousand,  thousand  more  beside 
That  man's  dull  sense  hath  ne'er  descried, 
Around  their  Queen  were  there. 

And  the  Mermaid- Queen,  Oh  who  was  she  ? 

Oh  she  was  wondrous  fair ! 
A  daintily-painted  transparency, 

Compounded  of  water  and  air : 
Her  eyes,  that  shone  with  a  moistened  light, 
That  was  softly  dim  and  yet  was  bright, 
Were  an  azure  green  or  an  azure  blue, 
Or  a  something  just  between  the  two. 
Her  webb'd  wings,  woven  of  pale  moonbeams 
While  twinkling  on  the  mountain  streams ; 
Their  ribs,  incrusted  with  gems  that  shone 
With  flashes  that  gleamed  and  then  were  gone ; 
A  veil  of  the  dripping  sea-weed  hid 

Her  bosom's  wavy  swell  ; 
More  cannot  I  sing — she  was  a  thing 

"  To  dream  of,  not  to  tell !  " 

The  pearl-boat  floated  on  alone, 

Till  the  Fisherman  stood  before  her  throne. 

She  charmed  him  with  her  eyes'  bright  sheen ; 

Her  azure  eyes'  soft  glances  keen, 

They  glided  cold  through  his  veins  and  skin, 

A  thrilling  feeling— half,  I  ween, 

Like  winter,  and  half  like  dread : 
The  pearl-boat  changed  to  a  mussel-shell, 

And  sank  to  the  bottom  like  lead ! 


THE  MERMAID   ISLE.  21 


PART    IV. 

All  above  and  around  was  water  now 

That  bad  been  air  before ; 
It  moved  to  and  fro  like  a  living  thing, 
And  made  a  moan-like  murmuring, 

Like  the  rough  waves'  distant  roar 

Upon  a  rocky  shore. 

The  sea- weed  hung,  swinging  and  waving, 

Swinging  and  waving  green ; 
And  through  the  tall  and  bending  flags 

The  coral  groves  were  seen. 

Where  were  the  shapes  that  flocked  around 

Thronging  the  peopled  sea  ? 
Save  where  some  lagging  half-seen  sprite 

Through  the  distant  flags  did  flee, 
No  living  thing  was  anywhere, 
But  the  mermaids  fair,  that  brought  him  there, 

The  mermaid  sisters  three. 

Now,  when  under  the  waves,  he  saw 

How  below  their  virgin  breast 
Their  forms  wound  down  like  a  fish's  tail, 
With  purple  and  gold  on  every  scale, 
Now  flashing  bright,  now  glimmering  pale ; 
And  their  bright  blue  fins  through  the  wave  were 

seen 
Plying,  with  golden  ribs  between, 

In  glancing  colors  drest. 


22  THE  3IERMAID  ISLE. 

But  the  charmed  glance  of  the  Mermaid-Queen 
Had  changed  himself  still  more ; 

He  felt  that  his  legs  had  run  together, 
And  fins  were  behind  and  before. 

And  scales  were  between  his  skin  and  the  sea ; 
The  water  slipped  by  them  unfeelingly, 

Like  streams  o'er  a  pebble-stone ; 
His  fins  they  plied  of  their  own  accord, 

By  an  instinct  of  their  own ; 
They  seemed  like  part  of  another  self, 
As  if  they  knew  what  he  would  do, 

And  did  it  themselves  alone. 

One  mermaid  led  the  way  before, 

One  was  on  either  side ; 
"  Swift  as  the  thoughts  of  Love,"  they  cleft 

Their  course  through  the  yielding  tide. 

First  they  sped  through  the  bending  flags, 

And  then  through  a  coral  grove 
Whose  boughs  were  intertwined  together, 
The  white  and  the  red  met  overhead, 
And  formed  an  archway  above. 

Far  down  below,  in  his  oozy  bed, 

The  sea-snake's  sinuous  coils  were  spread ; 

The  rank  weeds  covered  his  sleeping  head, 

And  he  was  couched  before 
An  opening  dark,  in  which  were  seen 
The  kelp's  broad  leaves  of  waving  green : 

It  was  a  cavern  door. 


THE  MERMAID   ISLE.  23 

They  entered  in  through  a  rift  in  the  rock, 

And  upward  still  they  swam, 
Till  to  a  grotto  wonderful 

And  beautiful  they  came. 

Here  of  a  softly-perfumed  air 
The  atmosphere  did  seem : 
"With  moon-stone  were  the  walls  inlaid, 
Half  in  the  light,  half  in  sombre  shade  ; 
The  cavern  was  lofty,  long,  and  wide, 
And,  opening  in  each  indented  side. 
Were  deep  recesses,  leading  on — 
A  devious  course  through  solid  stone — 
To  other  chambers,  not  less  rare, 
Nor  favored  less  by  sea-girls'  care, 
Which  decked  these  arches  crystalline 
With  wreaths  of  shells,  in  varied  line 
Of  drooping  sweep,  or  light  festoon, 
Of  swelling  curve  of  crescent  moon. 
The  roof,  above,  its  span  revealed 
With  mazy  intricacy  ceiled ; 
Resembling  in  its  fretted  style 
Some  ancient  quaint  cathedral  pile : 
Downward  the  sparry  pendants  hung, 
And  far  the  blazing  radiance  flung 
Of  carbuncles,  set  in  their  tips, 
Giving  the  moon  a  half-eclipse. 
The  triple-moulded  ribs  they  shone 
With  amethyst  and  beryl-stone ; 
All  waving  seemed  the  rest  of  the  roof 
As  of  tissue  made — the  twinkling  woof 


24  THE  MERMAID  ISLE. 

Inwoven  with,  stars  (a  servant-sprite 
Wrought  the  magic  web  in  a  single  night). 
Wondrously  gorgeous  was  the  sight, 

As  a  "  youthful  poet's  dream !  " 
And  between  the  central  pendants,  through 
A  rich  round  window  of  deep  sky-blue, 

Shone  in  the  pale  moon-beam. 

Here  in  this  twilight  chamber  fair 
Shone  all  that  ever  oeean  bare 
Of  beautiful,  or  rich,  or  rare, 

With  self-born  brilliance ;  all 
The  natural  wealth  the  waters  boast, 
With  gems  by  shipwrecked  mariners  lost, 

Incrusted  the  spangled  wall. 

Below  the  water,  the  wrinkled  sands 
Were  studded  with  jewels  bright ; 

And  up  through  the  waves  came  glistening  rays 
Of  faintly-tinted  light. 

In  it  the  self-illumined  gems 
Gazed  on  their  twinkling  diadems, 

Shadow  with  shadow  dancing ; 
And  the  tide,  with  its  thousand  crystal  eyes, 

Did  twinkle  back  their  glancing. 

But  the  gayest  of  all  was  a  deep  alcove, 
Beneath  the  boughs  of  a  coral  grove, 
Where  floated  a  couch,  it  seemed  ; 


THE  MERMAID   ISLE.  25 

Its  curtains  were  wrought  of  the  Nautilus  sails 
That  sported  once  in  ocean  gales  ; 
Festoons  of  pearls  were  hung  around — 
Pearls  that  of  every  hue  were  found  ; 
They  shone  with  a  mild  and  misty  light, 
And  from  their  mingled  tints  a  bright 
And  diverse  radiance  beamed. 

A  lovely  form  on  the  couch  was  laid ; 

Each  eye,  in  deep  repose, 
Was  veiled  behind  a  blue-veined  lid 
Whose  silken  fringes  but  half  hid 

What  they  would  fain  disclose. 

One  pale  soft  cheek  on  her  snowy  arm 

All  motionless  was  laid : 
Her  tresses  brown  they  hung  adown, 
Dipping  their  circlets  in  the  tide  ; 
Whence  little  ripplings,  side  by  side, 

In  the  quivering  moon-light  played. 
Her  vest,  of  silver- vapor  made 
(The  warp  was  light,  the  weft  was  shade, 
Woven  cunningly  by  magic  hand 
In  the  tiny  looms  of  faerie-land), 
With  many  a  swell  half  visible, 
Whose  outline  soft  no  tongue  could  tell, 

Inwrapped  the  slumbering  maid. 

Like  the  beamy  glory  shed 
Round  an  infant  Jesus'  head, 


26  THE  MERMAID  ISLE. 

The  moonbeams  shone  on  that  lovely  one 
A  silvery  bright  air-shower : 

'Twas  Mary  fair  lay  slumbering  there, 
And  this  was  her  beauty-bower. 


PART    V. 


Hist  !    Music  with  a  witching  tone 

The  while  is  breathing  round: 
And  yet  in  sooth  I  could  not  say 
That  voice  e'er  sang  so  sweet  a  lay ; 

0  say  not  that  it  was  a  voice, 
But  call  it  voiceless  sound. 

1  could  not  tell  the  song  it  sung, 
The  words  were  of  another  tongue — 

They  sounded  soft  and  low ; 
As  when  in  sultry  summer  weather 
The  air  and  the  sea  are  whispering  together, 
Waves  rolling  their  regular  lengths  along, 
The  measured  rhythm  of  ocean-song, 

Murmuring  in  ebb  and  flow. 

The  music  had  a  deeper  swell 
Than  Arion's  dolphin-charming  shell. 
The  various,  omnipresent  sound 
Uttered  itself  from  all  around, 


THE  MERMAID  ISLE.  27 

Clear,  echoing,  whisp'ring,  circling,  ringing, 
As  if  the  very  walls  were  singing, 

All  seemed  so  musical. 
With  open  ears  the  ranged  shells 

Drank  in  the  u  dying  fall ;  " 
The  .curtained  pearls  they  seemed  to  be, 
Amid  this  melting  melody, 
By  their  own  will  so  breathless  still, 

As  they  were  listening  all. 

Not  palpable  this  melody, 

Like  human  music,  seemed  to  be  : 

For  every  note  from  a  mortal  throat 

Doth  come  from  some  particular  spot, 

And  fills  as  it  were  but  one  half  of  the  air ; 

This  through  the  whole  round  atmosphere 

With  sweet  vibrations  wound, 
As  if  spirits  that  are  themselves  but  air 
Had  gently  wooed  their  brother-air 

To  change  itself  to  sound. 

The  mazy  tones,  forever  new, 
Crept  lingering,  loitering,  winding  through 
The  labyrinths  of  the  wondering  ear, 
As  if  ever  just  beginning  to  hear 

A  never-ending  strain : 
And  when  you  thought  that  all  was  still, 

You  heard  the  sound  again. 

The  Fisherman  in  wonderment 
A  moment  listening  stood  ; 


28  THE  MERMAID  ISLE. 

Then  gazed  on  the  couch  with  deep  devotion, 
As,  rocked  with  undulating  motion, 
It  floated  on  the  flood. 

When  lo  !  the  couch  began  to  glide 
Over  the  rippling,  sparkling  tide, 
And  the  sea-girls  swam  on  either  side, 
The  sleeping  fair  in  their  arms  to  bear, 

And  through  the  wave  to  guide. 
Then  the  inarticulate  music,  swelling, 
Following  forsook  its  moon-stone  dwelling ; 
And,  as  they  left  the  deep  alcove, 
And  sped  again  through  the  coral  grove, 
And  through  the  bending  flags  did  flee, 
They  heard  its  warbling  minstrelsy : 
Thrilling  the  soul,  through  the  waves  it  stole, 

And  echoes  faint  replied. 

And  the  sea-sisters  three  sang  merrily, 
And  waved  their  locks  of  green, 

As  gaily  they  bore  their  charge  before 
The  throne  of  the  Mermaid-Queen. 

'Twas  the  early  matin  hour ;  the  time 
Of  the  first  watch  after  the  midnight  chime. 
The  Kraken's  arms,  below  the  sea, 
Were  folded  all ;  asleep  was  he. 

The  sea-snake,  cased  in  glossy  green, 
Lay  in  slumbering  coils  of  spotted  sheen, 


TEE  MERMAID   ISLE.  29 

And  the  mer-women  gay  had  glided  away, 

In  their  coral  caves  to  rest : 
The  Spirit  of  Storm,  with  his  lightning  eyes, 
Lay,  lulled  to  sleep  by  murmuring  sighs, 

On  a  zephyr's  balmy  breast. 


The  young  Queen  reclined  in  a  purple  shell, 
So  gently  rocked  by  the  ocean  swell, 

That  scarce  it  seemed  to  move. 
Her  webb'd  wings,  of  the  moonbeams  moulded 
Arching  over  her  head  were  folded, 
And  round  her  form  half  immaterial, 
Fairies  had  wrapped  a  robe  aerial. 
Transparent  as  the  pure  blue  skies, 
The  stars  shone  through  her  azure  eyes, 
In  which  their  tender  twinkling  light 
Shone  softer,  sweeter,  yet  not  less  bright, 

Than  from  their  orbs  above. 


And  while  he  watched  her  beauty  rare, 
Soft  sounds  of  silence  filled  the  air  ; 
Such  as  in  Nature's  beauties  fair 

Do  a  mute  life  betoken. 
The  sounds  he  can  hear,  with  his  outward  ear, 
Though  he  feels  and  knows  they  cannot  be 
From  the  distant  earth,  or  the  air,  or  the  sea, 
But  from  within  come  echoingly, 
From  the  caves  of  long-gone  Memory, 

By  wondrous  charm  awoken. 


30  THE  MERMAID  ISLE. 

'Tis  as  when,  in  the  noon  of  a  summer's  day, 
By  the  cicada's  roundelay, 
By  the  cool  clear  brook  in  its  bubbling  play, 
Or  by  the  murmuring  wings  of  bees, 
By  whispering  trees,  or  sighing  seas, 
Silence  is  bred,  not  broken. 

The  lovely  Queen  of  the  Mermaid  Isle 
She  gazed  on  the  Fisherman  the  while, 
With  charmed  glance  and  witching  smile, 

"When  again  his  own  form  he  wore. 
Then  a  deep  thrill  came  o'er  his  quivering  frame  ; 
And  loves,  and  longing,  and  fond  thoughts  thronging, 
And  burning  hopes,  sprang  in  his  breast, 
Such  as  had  seemed  to  be  at  best 

But  hopeless  dreams  before. 

And  Mary  feels  the  charm  that  lies 
Within  those  star-lit,  cerulean  eyes. 
The  marble- white  from  her  cheek  has  fled 
'Fore  the  blush  of  life,  with  its  delicate  red; 
And  her  heaving  breast  and  flitting  smile 
Told  tales  of  conscious  love-dreams,  while — 
Still  all  by  magic  sleep  oppressed- 
She  sank  on  her  lover's  throbbing  breast. 
Then  under  the  twain,  from  the  depths  of  the  main 

The  pearl-boat  rose  again  ; 
And,  gath'ring  its  folds  from  its  island-home, 
Over  them  rose  the  rainbow-dome. 
With  reflex  hues  the  water  played 
Beneath  its  ever-varying  shade : 


THE  MERMAID  ISLE.  31 

Then,  like  a  distant  village  bell, 
The  Triton  wound  his  echoing  shell, 
While  the  sea-girls  raised  their  choral  strain, 
And  away  o'er  the  glassy  main  1 


PART    VI. 


'Twas  at  the  time  of  morning  prime  : 

'Fore  the  dawn's  gray  light  the  shades  of  night 

O'er  the  western  hills  began  to  flee, 

And  the  eastern  dim  stars  drowsily 

Were  winking  at  the  morn, 
When  the  boat  glided  over  the  quiet  bay 
To  the  smooth  rock,  where  the  live-long  day 
In  sobs  and  tears  the  Fisherman  lay 

Despairing  and  forlorn. 

The  mer-maidens  left  them  on  that  rock, 

In  the  moon-set  silvery  gray : 
Then  the  rosy  mist  rolled  over  the  boat„ 
And  on  the  air  sweet  sounds  did  float ; 
A  sad  yet  pleasing  strain  they  sung ; 
Round  the  lone  shore  the  cadence  rung,. 

And  echoing  died  away. 

The  Lady  Mary  was  now  once  more 
With  her  own  green  fields  around  her; 

But  she  could  not  wake  from  her  slumber  yet, 
For  the  magic  sleep  still  bound  her. 


32  THE  MERMAID  ISLE. 

The  Fisherman  watched  her  ruby  lips, 
And  the  fringe  round  her  closed  eyes  ; 

And  he  thought  of  the  time  when,  a  child,  he 
dreamed 
That  he  was  in  Paradise. 


There  lived  near  by  a  noble  Knight, 

Who,  at  the  peep  of  dawn, 
Mounted  his  gallant  hunting  barb, 

And  to  the  chase  is  gone. 

But  the  hounds  ahead,  in  the  heat  of  the  chase, 
Turned  aside  near  the  sea-shore,  where 

Round  a  sleeping  form  they  silent  stood, 
And  did  in  wonder  stare ; 

And  the  huntsmen  crossed  themselves,  as  if 
An  angel  had  been  there. 

Amazed,  the  Knight  in  haste  rode  up, 

When  lo !  in  sweet  surprise, 
Her  blue-veined  lids  unclose  before 

The  brilliance  of  her  eyes, 
As  at  morn  before  the  unveiling  sun 

The  white  cloud-curtains  rise. 

The  Knight  was  young  and  beautiful, 

With  an  eye  of  beaming  blue ; 
The  tender  down  upon  his  cheek 

Scarce  dimmed  its  blooming  hue : 

His  graceful  form  was  gaily  decked, 
His  hand  was  small  and  fair, 


THE  MERMAID  ISLE.  33 

And  round  bis  open  smiling  brow 
Fell  his  clustering  light-brown  hair. 

The  Fisherman's  eye  was  deep  and  dark, 
And  with  weeping  and  watching  dim  : 
His  shaggy  locks  were  all  unshorn, 
His  cheek  sun-burnt  and  weather-worn. 
Could  she  deign  to  look  on  Mm? 

Lady  Mary  gazed  on  the  noble  Knight ; 

And  she  knew  by  his  broad  plume,  nodding  white 

O'er  his  cap  of  crimson  gay, 
That  under  her  window  he  thrice  had  sung 

Of  love  a  tender  lay. 
And  what  could  a  maiden  think  of  a  knight 
Who,  by  the  young  moon's  mellow  light, 
With  passioned  love-songs  waked  the  night  ? 

Refuse  to  love  him  ?    Nay ! 

In  his  arm  the  young  Knight  deftly  raised  her, 
Upon  his  barb  he  gently  placed  her, 

Then  took  the  bridle-rein ; 
And  holding  converse  sweet,  together 

They  paced  across  the  plain. 

The  Fisherman  watched  her  form,  until 
They  disappeared  behind  the  hill 

That  bounds  the  spreading  lea  ; 
Then  a  tear-drop  fell — and  once  be  sighed: 
"  Forever  lost !  "  he  wildly  cried, 

And  plunged  into  the  sea. 


34  THE  MERMAID  ISLE. 


PART    VII. 

But  during  all  this  wondrous  night 

How  did  Sir  Gerald  sleep  ? 
Did  dreams  of  new  wealth  bring  delight  ? 

Was  his  slumber  calm  and  deep  ? 

The  night  before  the  funeral 

Little  I  ween  he  slept ; 
The  first  night  after,  his  poignant  grief 
In  sleepless  mourning  sought  relief- 
Sir  Gerald  waked  and  wept. 

Now  wearied  nature  claimed  repose  : 

But  he  feared  to  sleep  alone  ; 
And  he  dared  not  sleep  with  another,  lest 
Unconscious  mutterings  in  his  rest 

Should  tell  what  he  had  done. 

Before  he  closed  his  aching  eyes, 

He  heard  the  midnight  bell : 
The  solemn  tones  to  him  did  sound 

The  tolling  of  a  knell ! 

* 
He  slept.    In  a  dream  he  saw  broad  lands 

And  gems  of  wondrous  size ; 
Vast  heaps  of  coined  gold  did  feast 

His  avaricious  eyes : 
With  greedy  joy  he  stretched  his  hands 

To  clutch  the  glittering  prize, 


THE  MERMAID  ISLE.  35 

When  long  worms  with  their  slimy  forms 
Crawled  cold  and  clammy  round  his  arms, 

And  clenched  them  like  a  vice ; 
The  chilly  horror  in  his  veins, 

It  froze  his  blood  to  ice  ! 

And  huge  snakes'  forked  tongues  and  fangs 

Did  hiss  and  grind  in  his  face ; 
While  arms  of  crooked  flame  did  stretch, 
Burning  to  clasp  the  sordid  wretch 

In  their  intense  embrace ! 

In  fear  he  started  !    Along  the  wall 

Sadly  the  night-wind  sighed  ; 
And  slowly  o'er  the  marble  floor 

The  cold  moon-beam  did  glide. 

He  slept  again.    He  was  in  a  vault 
Dim-lit  by  lantern  dark :  in  thought 

From  every  eye  close  hid, 
Filling  a  coflin  with  stone  and  sod, 

And  screwing  down  the  lid. 
When  he  looked  up,  and  from  on  high, 
Lo !  a  serene  and  bright  blue  Eye 

Was  watching  what  he  did  ! 

Trembling  he  woke.     Along  the  wall 

Softly  the  night- wind  sighed ; 
And  nearer  o'er  the  marble  floor 

Did  the  quiet  moon-beam  glide. 


36  THE  MERMAID   ISLE. 

He  slept  again.     Before  his  eyes 

The  crag  o'erhanging  the  sea  did  rise  ; 

And  falling  swift  down  to  the  wave  below, 

Was  a  woman's  form  in  a  robe  of  snow : 

How  he  strained  his  eye  and  his  listening  ear 

To  see  the  dim  form  disappear, 

And  the  sound  of  the  deep,  dull  plash  to  hear ! 

But  the  sinking  form,  to  his  fearful  stare, 

Falls  slower,  and  stops  in  middle-air ! 

From  her  fair  neck  the  stone,  unbound, 

Drops  alone  in  the  wave  with  a  deadened  sound ; 

While,  struggling  free  from  the  twisted  band, 

For  help  was  stretched  a  quivering  hand, 

And  a  shrill  shriek  rends  the  skies : 
More  shrill,  the  sky  echoes  back  the  cry ; 

And,  'fore  his  starting  eyes, 

The  form  begins  to  rise ! 

In  terror  he  woke :  his  flesh  did  quake — 
What  sees  he  now  ?    Does  he  dream  awake  ? 

Standing  before  his  bed 
There's  a  woman's  form  in  a  dank  white  shroud ! 
Round  her  snowy  neck,  by  death-pains  bowed, 
Is  a  corded  mark  in  a  circle  dark ; 
Her  rigid  face  is  pale  and  stark ; 
Her  eyeballs  glare — a  glassy  stare ! 
In  wild  locks  hang  her  dripping  hair, 

And  the  sea-foam  is  on  her  head. 

"  'Tis  she !  "  he  cried ;  and,  quick  as  light, 
From  the  casement  he  leaped — a  fearful  height ! 


THE  MERMAID   ISLE.  37 

Five  fathom  down  he  fell : 
Yet  started,  flying,  to  his  feet, 
For  fiends  bore  him  up  unhurt,  to  meet 

A  death  more  horrible. 

Like  Panic,  over  the  rocks  he  fled 

With  wondrous  speed  and  wild  : 
'Twas  startling  strange  to  see  a  man 
So  furious,  haggard,  wild  and  wan, 

In  the  silent  moonshine  mild. 

Aye  backward  staring,  he  descried 
That  awful  form  behind  him  glide, 

With  a  scowl  on  her  pallid  face ; 
And  her  cold  and  skinny  hands  outstretched, 
Urged  fast  and  faster  the  maniac  wretched 

On  his  terrific  race. 

Sir  Gerald,  hold !  the  crags  are  here! 

But  slie  follows  close  behind  ! 
Sir  Gerald !  Sir  Gerald  !  the  sea  is  near, 

But  nearer  is  She  behind  ! 

Ha !  ha ! — o'er  the  cliff  he's  plunged,  hell-driven 

By  the  phantom-fiend,  Remorse ! 
High  from  the  green  brine  hungry  sharks 

Leaped  up  at  the  caitiff  corse ! 


38  THE  MERMAID  ISLE. 


CONCLUSION. 

The  old  moon  in  the  young  moon's  arm 

In  shadowy  slumber  lay ; 
And  one  short  month,  how  rapturously, 

Had  swiftly  passed  away. 

When,  on  the  morn  of  a  sunny  day, 

To  the  village  church  there  hied, 
With  merry  bells  ringing,  and  young  girls  singing, 

A  Bridegroom  and  a  Bride. 

And  well  I  ween  a  sight  was  seen 

Both  beautiful  and  rare, 
When  Sir  Frederick,  the  noble  Knight,  gave  troth 

To  Lady  Mary  fair. 

There  was  jolly  cheer  in  the  castle-hall 

When  the  wedding-feast  began ; 
With  dainties  stored  then  groaned  the  board, 

And  free  the  rich  red  wine  ran : 
And  the  Bridegroom  gay  and  his  lovely  Bride 

— Forgot  the  Fisherman ! 

But  the  mermaid-sisters  had  carried  him 

Before  their  Island  Queen ; 
With  witching  smile  and  magic  eye 
She  charmed  his  bitter  misery  ; 
And  by  oblivion  took  away 
The  grief  that  in  his  bosom  lay, 


THE  MERMAID  ISLE.  39 

With  its  gnawing  anguish  keen. 
She  changed  his  form ;  and  now  he  roves 
With  the  mer-women  free  through  coral  groves, 
And  the  moon-stone  cave,  with  its  pearl-alcoves, 

Deep  down  in  the  ocean  green. 

And  often  at  night,  near  that  charmed  shore, 

On  the  salt  breeze  borne  along, 
The  mariner  hears,  o'er  the  moon-lit  wave, 

The  sea-boy's  distant  song. 
1840. 


THE    DKEAM    OF    A    CHILD. 


When  I  was  but  a  little  boy, 

In  long  gone  days  of  yore, 
Two  old  contemporary  trees 

Grew  close  beside  our  door. 

We  named  the  locust  "Father,"  for 
High  rose  his  towering  head, 

And  his  far-reaching  branches  wide 
Their  grateful  shadow  spread. 

Close  in  his  side  a  mulberry-tree, 
We  children  called  it  "  Mother," 

Seemed  with  her  broad-leaf  d  foliage 
Embosomed  in  the  other. 

In  Winter's  storm,  in  summer's  shine, 
Still  side  by  side  they  stood ; 

"  Father  "  and  "  Mother  "  we  loved  best 
Of  all  the  good  green  wood. 

And  under  their  protecting  shade 
We  played  in  sunny  weather ; 

While  over  us,  like  loving  arms, 
They  twined  their  boughs  together. 


THE  DREAM  OF  A    CHILD.  41 

One  night  I  laid  me  down  to  sleep, 

And  in  my  dreams  I  saw 
A  wondrous  sigbt,  that  thrilled  my  soul 

With  fond  religious  awe. 

Under  those  loved  old  trees  methought, 

And  in  their  double  shade, 
I  saw  a  lofty  wall  run  round, 

Of  solid  silver  made. 

High  rose  its  purfled  pinnacles 

Of  bright  and  burnished  sheen, 
Until  they  hid  their  shining  heads 

Among  the  mingled  green. 

Upon  the  eastern  side,  a  gate 

Of  fretted  gold  was  placed, 
And  studded  thick  with  precious  stones 

That  in  the  sunbeams  blazed : 

The  diamond  bright,  the  sapphire  blue, 

The  emerald  so  green. 
The  ruby  red,  the  onyx  stone, 

And  topaz  there  were  seen. 

And  when  this  sparkling  splendor  shone 

Before  my  wondering  eyes, 
I  thought  'twas  New  Jerusalem 

Descended  from  the  skies. 

Long  time  I  gazed,  then  kneeling  down 
Upon  the  grass-grown  floor, 


42  THE  DREAM  OF  A    CHILD. 

As  when  I  said  my  evening  prayer 
I  knocked  upon  the  door. 

Straightway  it  opened ;  and  I  saw 

A  Man  before  me  stand. 
Who  spoke  to  me  with  kindly  voice, 

And  took  me  by  the  hand. 

His  eyes  were  like  my  Mother's  eyes, 
His  voice  like  Father's  seemed ; 

'Twas  Jesus  !  for  around  His  head 
A  radiant  glory  beamed. 

He  took  me  in  His  gracious  arms, 

And  I  sat  on  His  knee ; 
Sure  even  a  soul  in  Paradise 

Never  more  blest  could  be. 

And  there  the  twelve  Apostles  were, 

A  venerable  band : 
Four  listening  stood  before  their  Lord, 

And  four  on  either  hand. 

He  told  me  that  the  Saints  around 
His  Father's  throne  on  high 

Once  lived  upon  our  earth,  and  once 
Were  children  such  as  I. 

And  when  He  blessed  me,  as  I  sat 

Upon  His  sacred  knees, 
I  heard  sweet  sounds  above  my  head, 

Among  the  broad  green  leaves. 


THE  DREAM   OF  A    CHILD.  43 

'Twas  not  the  little  birds,  I  knew, 

That  in  the  branches  sang  ; 
But  golden  harps,  with  angel- tongues, 

In  joyous  concert  rang. 

And  "  Alleluia  "  loud  they  sung, 

As  they  sang  long  ago ; 
And  "  Glory  be  to  God  on  high, 

Good-will  to  men  below  !  " 

Brothers  and  sisters  all,  outside, 

Invited  me  to  play  ; 
Father  and  Mother  called  to  me, 

And  chid  my  long  delay. 

I  answered  not :  for  God  had  touched 

My  heart  with  holy  fire ; 
How  could  I  leave  my  Jesus'  arms, 

Or  that  angelic  choir  ? 

And  listening  to  the  symphonies 

Of  their  entrancing  theme, 
I  sank  to  sleep :  and  when  I  woke, 

Behold !  it  was  a  dream. 

A  dream !     Oh  'twas  a  blessed  dream 

I  never  can  forget ! 
And  though  long  years  have  o'er  me  roll'd 

Its  echoes  haunt  me  yet. 

When  life's  sad  labors  all  are  o'er, 
And  I  lie  down  to  rest : 


44  THE  DREAM  OF  A   CHILD, 

Oh  let  me  fall  asleep  at  last, 
Asleep  on  Jesus'  breast ! 

There  let  me  rest — to  Jesus'  breast 
By  guardian  spirits  borne ; 

Till  loud  the  angel-trump  shall  wake 
The  Resurrection  morn. 

Then  shall  I  join  the  marriage  train, 

With  boughs  of  victor-palm, 
And  sing  the  everlasting  song 
Of  Moses  and  the  Lamb. 
1841. 


€&e  mitcfy&xutm. 


Founded  on  a  Legend  m  the  Heldenbuch,  a  cyclus  of  old 
German  Romances. 


King  Dietrich  and  his  warriors,  returning  from  the 

fray, 
Wearily  in   the  greenwood  sate,  at  close  of  summer's 

day; 
And,  save  the  young  King  Dietrich,  who  woke  the  watch 

to  keep, 
All  stretched  their  limbs  upon  the  grass,  and  softly  sank 

to  sleep. 

Before  the  blazing  camp-fire  the  King  in  silence  strode, 
The  flashing  of  his   armor  bright  shone  far  into  the 

wood  ; 
At  times,  as  in   a  musing  mood,  he  sternly  knit  his 

brows, 
In  fancy  fought  his  battles  o'er,  or  frowned  upon  his 

foes. 

Slow  creeping,  then,  on  hands  and  knees,  behind  the 

bushes  green, 
A  savage  woman's  form  was  by  the  wondering  chieftain 

seen; 


46  THE   WITCH- QUEEN. 

And,  as  she  nearer  stole,  he  saw,  by  the  fire's  reflecting 

glare, 
Her  scrawny  neck,  her  arms  and  cheeks,  all  rough  with 

shaggy  hair. 

Her  elf-locks,  matted  thick  with  leaves,  in  wildest  tan- 
gles hung, 

And  pendent,  like  a  she-wolfs  dugs,  her  hairy  bosoms 
swung ; 

Her  amorous,  wrinkled,  blear  old  eyes,  did  leer  upon 
the  King, 

While,  in  a  harsh,  hoarse,  guttural  voice,  she  thus  began 
to  sing : 

"Gentle  and  young,  loving  and  fair,  a  Maiden-Queen 

am  I, 
With  spreading  lands  and  castles  strong,  and  towers  that 

pierce  the  sky ; 
I've  decked  their  lofty  chambers  all  daintily  for  thee, 
Then,  warrior,  leave  thy  weary  wars  to  win  the  love 

of  me! 

"Oh  listen,  Hero,  listen!    I  have  many  a  year  been 

roaming 
Around  this  forest  wild  and  gloomy,  waiting  for  thy 

coming ! 
I  know  a  spell  can  shield  thee  well  from  every  mortal 

harm, 
Then  hie  away  with  me,  my  Love,  encircled  in  thine 

arm ! " 


THE    WITCH-QUEEN.  47 

"Aroynt  thee,   hag!"    the   loathing  chief  with  angry 

scowl  did  say, 
And  clapped  his  hand  upon  his  brand  to  fright  the  thing 

away : 
But  she   was  a  foul    and  wicked  witch,   cunning  in 

gramarie, 
Over  the  King  she  cast  a  spell,  all  under  the  greenwood 

tree ;  — 

A  spell  of   magic    mighty,   it  charmed    him   to    the 

ground, 
As  if  each  limb  with  linked  chains  of  iron  strong  were 

bound, 
As  if  a  brooding  Nightmare  on  his  breast,  in  horror, 

rode, 
And  will  lay  motionless,  weighed  down  beneath  the 

loathed  load. 

She  took  his  golden  helm,  that  aye  shone  first  in  dense 

melee, 
Unlaced  his  hauberk,  bore  his  shield  and  trusty  sword 

away; 
While  thus  the  King  lamented,  all  powerless  from  her 

charms : 
"  Alas  1   that  ever  a  woman's  hand  should  spoil  me  of 

my  arms ! " 

With  his  armor,  through  the  darkness  away  the  foul 

witch  hied, 
She  left  the  young  King  motionless,  the  dying  fire  beside  ; 


48  THE    WITCH- QUEEN. 

But  still  the  spell  is  on  him,  it  drives  him  to  the 
wood, 

Unarmed,  through  forests  drear,  to  seek  the  Witch- 
Queen's  wild  abode. 

Sadly  the  spell-bound  Bang  did  turn,  a  parting  look  to 

take 
Of  the    slumbering    companions    he    dared    not  then 

awake : 
"How  will  the  brave  knights  wonder  and  grieve,  at 

early  dawn, 
When  none  can  tell  them  how  I  went,  or  whither  I  am 

gone ! " 

Far    through    the    forest    gloomy  wanders    the    Hero 

good, 
O'er  hills,  dells,  rocks,  streams,  fallen  trees,  and  tangled 

underwood  ; 
Till  at  last  the  spell  mysterious  to  a  hill  the  Chieftain 

bore, 
Where  he  saw  the  grinning  hag  reclining  close  by  a 

cavern  door. 

"  Give  me  my  hauberk,  helm,  and  sword,  thou  foul  She- 
fiend  of  Hell, 

Or,  by  my  soul "  but  over  him  she  cast  a  mightier 

spell : 

To  the  ground  he  sank  in  heavy  trance,  could  neither 
feel  nor  speak ; 

She  twined  round  him  her  hairy  arms,  and  kissed  his 
senseless  cheek. 


THE    WITCH- QUEEN.  49 

With  cruel  shears  she  cut  his  flowing  locks  of  golden 

hair, 
And,  save  a  squalid  garment,  his  manly  limbs   were 

bare ; 
Then,  with  her  cunning   witchery,  she   stole   his   wits 

away, 
And  drove  him  to  the   wild   wood  to  wander  night 

and  day. 

Oh  wearily,  oh  drearily,  the  witless  Hero  hied 

Over  the  bleak  wide  wilderness,  and  barren  mountain's 

side; 
O'er  rugged  chasms  with  dark  ravines,  through  torrents 

deep  he  goes, 
Unsheltered,  scorched  by   summer's  heat,  shivering  in 

winters  snows. 

A  year  he  wandered,  all  alone.     How  desolate  was  he ! 
u  Wilt  leave  thy  travels,  gentle  Prince,  to  win  the  love 

of  me  ? " 
The  Hero  answered :  "  Better  far  to  wander  all  my  life, 
Than  take   the  foulest  Witch   in  all   the  world  to  be 

my  wife ! 

"  Give  me  my  arms,  and  tell  me  in  what  region  may  be 
found 

The   many   brave   companions   I   left   sleeping   on   the 
ground ! " 

M  They're  in  the  Soldan's  dungeons,  pining  fast  away, 

Scarcely  through  their  window  bars  peeps  in  the  doubt- 
ful day." 
3 


50  THE   WITCH-QUEEN. 

"  My  sword,  for  love  of  God,  my  sword !  and  let  me  set 

them  free !  " 
"Nay,   fiery   Prince,  not  till  thou  art  a  kind   leman 

to  me. 
Thy  knights  shall  die  in  slavery,  and  thou  shalt  rove 

the  land 
Again  distraught,  if  thou  wilt  not  accept  my  proffered 

hand." 

"  How  can  I  woo  thee  in  the  woods,  thou  maiden  fair 

and  meek  ? 
Or  how  embrace  thy  hairy  form,  or  kiss  thy  bristly 

cheek  ? 
How  can  a  Christian  Knight,  like  me,  a  heathen  woman 

wed, 
Or  bring  a  wicked  Witch- Queen  into  his  royal  bed  ? " 

"  The  daughter  of  a  Christian  King  am  I ;  but,  strange 
to  tell, 

Soon  after  I  was  born,  ere  yet  baptized  in  holy 
well, 

An  Elfin-Queen  stole  me,  at  noon,  out  of  my  cradle- 
bed, 

And  left  a  little  changeling  child  there  sleeping  in  my 
stead. 


"  She  brought  me  to  this  forest  cave,  wherein  she  used 

to  dwell ; 
She  taught  me  all  her  occult  lore  of  charm  and  magic 

spell ; 


THE   WITCH-QUEEN.  51 

She   witched  my  form,  'tis  like  her  own;   and,  when 

death  closed  her  reign, 
She  left  me  Queen  of  tower  and  town,  and  all  her  wide 

domain. 

"  She  warned  me  I  should  wander  here,  forlorn  and 

desolate, 
Till  I  should  win  the  Bravest  Knight  to  be  my  Royal 

Mate : 
I'll  give  him  brighter  armor  than  ever  yet  he  wore, 
Will  empty  the  Soldan's  dungeons  ere  this  young  moon 

be  o'er. 

"I  know  a  wondrous  well,  will  make  me  wrorthy  of 

thy  bed, 
Then  away  with  me,  King  Dietrich !  "  the  savage  maiden 

said. 
With  mystic,  muttered  words,  she  drew  a  charmed  circle 

round, 
Quick,  from  the  air,  a  winged  steed  alighted  on  the 

ground. 

A  wondrous  steed  and  beautiful !     How  smooth  his 

glossy  crest ! 
The  green  and  gold  contended  for  the  sunshine  on  his 

breast, 
The    purple    tipt    his  wings  above,   the   vermeil   soft 

within, 
His  mild  eyes  shone,  like  pitying  stars  watching  this 

world  of  sin. 


52  THE    WITCH- QUEEN, 

Vaulted  the  Witch-Queen  nimbly  upon  his  glistening 

back, 
One  hairy  arm  wound  round  the  King,  one  round  the 

courser's  neck ; 
With  steady  wings,  like  oars,  the  bird  rowed  through 

the  sea  of  air, 
While  clouds  came  floating  by,  like  dreams,  in  colors 

rich  and  rare. 

And  murmuringly  within  himself  the  winged  creature 

sings, 
With  still  small  voice  makes  music  to  the  whirring  of 

his  wings ; 
As  when  the  Spring-birds,  carolling  in  morn's  returning 

beams, 
Join  pensively  the  plaintive  tune  of  penitential  streams. 

They  see  through  distant  vales  the  rivers  wind,  like 
silver  threads ; 

Far  down  below,  in  mist  and  snow,  are  capped  the 
mountain  heads ; 

But,  in  the  nearing  landscape,  now  appears  the  Minster- 
spire, 

And  faint  they  hear  the  good  priests'  voices  chanting  in 
the  choir. 

The  psalm  is  done.     The  lessons  when  the  priest  began 

to  read, 
To  her  steed  the  Witch-Queen  whispered,  and  reined  his 

onward  speed ; 


THE    WITCH- QUEEN.  53 

Circling  round  and  round  he  sank,  slow  sailing  on  the 

wing, 
Till  safe  before  the  broad  church -door  his  riders  he  did 

bring. 

With  the  Prince  into  the  Minster  the  eager  Witch-Queen 

passed ; 
To  see   so  rough  and  foul   a  face  the  people  stared 

aghast ! 
Far  up  the  aisle,  beside  the  Font,  two  priests  in  white 

robes  stood, 
She  went  down  into  the  Holy  Well,  and  touched  the 

crystal  flood. 

To  cleanse  her  soul  from  sinfulness  the  solemn  words 

were  said, 
And    over  her  the    priests  and  all    the  congregation 

prayed  ; 
Up  from  the  Font  she  rose,  so  changed,  so  wonderfully 

fair, 
Prostrate  the    people  fell,   as  if  an  Angel  had  been 

there ! 

Oh    how    can    written  words   pretend   to  paint    that 

change  surprising ! 
How  bright  she  shone,  instinct  with  beauty,  from  the 

Font  uprising ! 
And  trickled  from  her  snowy  brow,  the  brow  that  wept 

to  lose  'em, 
The  glittering,   pearly  water-drops,   hastening  to   her 

bosom. 


54  THE   WITCH-QUEEN. 

Proudly  to  King  Dietrich  she  raised  her  modest  eye  : 
"If  she  should  ask  the  boon  again,  would   he  again 

deny  ? " 
The  priest,  the  bride  were  there ;  the  nuptial  chant  the 

choir  did  sing: 
And,  ere  her  finger  well  was  dry,  it  pressed  the  round 

red  ring. 
1841. 


THE    BEES    OF    ST.    SIMON'S. 


On  St.  Simon's,  one  of  the  most  delightful  of  the  Sea-islands  that 
fringe  the  Southern  Coast  of  Georgia,  for  five  years  a  thriving  swarm 
of  bees  deposited  their  honey  in  the  Church,  between  the  outer  and 
the  inner  wall,  flying  in  and  out  through  an  aperture  over  the  Church 
door.  The  Rector  sold  the  honey,  and  applied  the  funds  to  Missionary 
purposes ;  yet  still  the  faithful  bees  labored  on. 


There  lies,  far  in  the  bosom  of  the  seas, 

An  island  fair; 
The  summer  long  the  patient  little  bees 

Are  busy  there  : 
The  honey  that  they  gather  all  year  round, 

Buzzing  from  flower  to  flower, 
They  hoard  it  in  a  quaint  bee-hive  they've  found 

In  the  old  Church  tower. 


Their  store  is  taken  every  year,  nor  do 
The  bees  complain ; 

They  know  that  God  will  send,  next  Spring,  a  new 
Supply  again. 

The  produce  of  their  careful  gatherings  goes 
To  men  in  lands  abroad, 

Who  preach  "  glad  tidings  of  great  joy  "  to  those 
Who  know  not  God. 


56  TEE  BEES   OF  ST.   SIMON'S. 

Like  Jonathan1  when  fainting  he  did  roam 
The  hungry  waste, 

How  was  he  quickened  when  an  honeycomb 
He  did  but  taste ! 

So  to  those  weary  laborers  on  lone  shores, 
This  little  hive  supplies 

The  amber  droppings  of  its  annual  stores, 
To  light  their  eyes. 

Poor  Christian !  e'en  in  such  small  folk  as  these 

A  lesson  see : 
Doth  God  take  such  good  care  for  tiny  bees, 

Yet  none  for  thee  ? 
Then  say  not,  Little-faith,  thou  hast  no  power 

To  gather  honey  too, 
All  round  thee  bloom  the  flowers,  and  every  flower 

Is  filled  with  dew. 
1843. 

1  1  Sam.  xiv :  29. 


THE    CHILD    AND    THE    BEE. 


On  the  Same  Incident  as  the  Preceding. 


"  Oh  !  whither  away,  pretty  bee  ? "  said  I, 

As  I  stood  by  a  neighboring  stile ; 
"  Away  with  my  gatherings,  Ladie,  I  fly 

To  the  Church  on  St.  Simon's  Isle." 

■  But  what  will  you  do  at  the  Church,  pretty  bee  ? 

Do  you  ever  go  there  to  pray  ? " 
"There's  a  cleft  in  the  old  tower-wall,  Ladie, 

Where  we  store  all  our  honey  away." 

"  But  why  such  a  quaint  old  place,  pretty  bee, 
Do  you  choose  for  your  waxen  cells  ? " 

"  The  chimes  they  ring  over  our  heads,  Ladie, 
And  we  love  the  sweet  sound  of  the  bells." 

"  But  what,  when  the  summer  is  gone,  pretty  bee, 

Do  you  do  with  the  honey,  I  pray  ? " 
"  The  Parson  sends  all  we  have  gathered,  Ladie, 

To  holy  men  far,  far  away." 

u  What,  strip  the  sweet  hive  you  have  filled  to  the  brim ! 
Lose  all  your  rich  stores,  pretty  bee  !  " 


58  THE   CHILD  AND   THE  BEE. 

"  Oh  no,  no,  no !  what  is  given  to  Him 
Can  never  be  lost,  Ladie." 

"  But  tell  me,  I  prithee,  how  can  you  live  on 
Till  Spring  comes  again,  pretty  bee  ? " 

"  We  never  shall  want,  though  our  honey  is  gone, 
For  God  made  us  all,  Ladie." 

"  But  how  through  the  Winter  so  barren  and  cold 
Will  you  nourish  your  young,  pretty  bee  ? " 

"  Last  year  I  was  young,  and  now  I  am  old, — 
For  God  made  us  all,  Ladie." 

So  saying,  and  cheerily  buzzing  away, 
Went  the  bee  to  the  old  Church-tower ; 

And  I  followed  her  flight  with  my  eye  all  the  way, 
As  she  flew  over  bush,  bank,  and  bower. 

And  though  she  was  soon  out  of  sight,  it  was  long 

Before  she  was  out  of  my  mind ; 
And  I  blushed  for  the  little  I'd  given :  'twas  wrong, 

For  God  has  to  me  been  so  kind. 

And  my  all  though  I  gave  him,  I  never  should  want, 
For  'twas  He  who  gave  all  tilings  to  me : 

If  sluggards  can  learn  from  the  diligent  ant, 
Let  me  be  taught  Faith  by  the  Bee. 
Savannah,  1843. 


"CUPIDON    A    LA    CHASSE." 


Written  under  a  Drawing  of  Cupid,  with  Bow  and  Arrows, 
Setting  out  on  the  Hunt. 


From  Paphian  bow'rs,  where  murmuring  fountains  flow, 

Young  Love,  all  eager,  to  the  chase  departs. 

Life's  day  is  dawning :  blithe  with  hope  he  starts, 
While  Childhood's  dreams  are  not  yet  flown.     But  lo  ! 
Where  flow'rs  were  dreamed  of,  thorns  and  thistles  grow  I 

Soft  rosy  smiles  adorn  his  youthful  face ; 

Before,  is  seen  bright  Hope  and  beaming  Grace : 
The  keen  darts  lurk  behind — steeped  in  sharp  woe  I 

The  fire  that  forged  them,  lit  at  woman's  eyes; 

The  breath  that  gave  the  dead  coals  life,  hot  sighs ; 

Tempered  in  tears  were  they ;  their  barbed  tips 

Envenomed  in  the  dew  of  woman's  lips ; 

The  string  that  wings  his  shafts  is  woven  of  woman's 
hair : 

Is  he  a  god  or  fiend?     He's  both  !     My  soul,  beware ! 
1838. 


THE    VOYAGE    OF    LIFE. 


My  life  is  like  a  freighted  bark 

Within  a  sluggish  bay, 
Over  the  smooth  inviting  main 

Ready  to  launch  away. 

But  yet  in  vain,  to  fill  my  sails, 

The  favoring  breezes  blow ; 
In  vain  to  the  port  of  my  earthly  rest 

I  turn  my  sea-ward  prow. 

In  vain  along  the  other  shore 

I  see  the  loved  ones  stand, 
And  beckon  me  over  the  briny  flood, 

Home  to  my  Fatherland : 

For  bedded  deep  in  solid  ground, 
At  the  bottom  of  ocean  hoar, 

An  anchor  cast,  still  hugs  me  fast 
To  a  flat  and  dreary  shore. 

But  my  Captain1  is  on  board  with  me, 

He  sees  my  longing  state : 
Patience,  my  soul !     He  knoweth  best; 

It  is  for  thee  to  wait. 

1  "  Captain  of  our  Salvation." 


THE    VOYAGE   OF  LIFE.  61 

When  at  His  command  the  anchor  shall  rise, 

And  I  ride  the  boundless  sea, 
May  His  hand  guide  my  little  bark 

To  the  haven  where  I  would  be. 

And  when,  long  tossed  on  the  stormy  waves, 

My  wanderings  all  are  o'er, 
Let  me  anchor  at  last  in  the  River  of  Life, 

For  ever  and  evermore  ! 
1843. 


ATHIRST    FOR    LOVE. 


I  am  athirst  for  love ! 
And  eyes  are  near, 
Like  fountains  clear, 
Where  I  might  drink  my  fill  : 
But  Duty  binds  me  in  a  stem  caress, 
Seals  up  those  founts  of  blessedness, 
And  fetters  down  my  will. 
And  home-born  memories, 
And  home-loved  faces,  from  my  heart  arise 

In  venerable  might, 
Hang,  like  a  veil,  before  those  beaming  eyes, 
And  hide  them  from  my  sight ! 


I  am  athirst  for  love  ! 
And  lips  are  nigh, 
Whose  dewy  smile  allures  the  eye ; 
Whose  pressure  soft  unlocks,  with  curious  art, 
The  secret  wards  and  labyrinths  of  the  heart. 
Their  gently  murmuring  words,  to  me  how  dear, 

I  may  not  hear  ! 
Like  some  lorn  pilgrim  from  a  distant  land, 
Before  the  longed-for  oracle  I  stand ; 
At  distance  gaze  in  silence  there, 
And  may  no  nearer  move ; 


ATHIRST  FOR   LOVE.  63 

And  see  those  lips  yet  motionless,  nor  dare 
Unseal  their  silence  with  the  watch-word  "  Love ! " 

My  soul  is  athirst  for  love ! 
Near  me  I  find 
A  polished  mind, 
Whose  dark-orbed  windows,  'neath   their  rounded 

brow, 
Now  flash  with  mirth,  and  now  with  feeling  glow, 
Reveal  its  strength  and  symmetry, 
Wit,  eloquence,  and  poesy, 
And,  dearest  to  a  Christian's  soul, 
Religion's  wings  soft  brooding  o'er  the  whole : — 
Yet  dare  not  rove  with  it  along 
The  flowery  fields  of  song, 
Nor  strike  the  many- voiced  strings 
Of  higher,  holier  things ! 
I  listen  :  but  I  hear  no  "  dying  fall :  " 
Silent  to  me  are  all ; — 
Silent  as  those  sad  harps,  that,  quite  unstrung 
By  captive  Judah's  woes  and  fears, 
On  bending  willows  hung ; 
While  the  sweet  songs  of  Zion  were  unsung,. 
And  Babel's  streams  ran  swollen  with  Israel's  tears. 

I  am  athirst  for  love  ! 
Yet  why,  my  Soul,  this  pensive  strain  ? 

She  feels  not  for  thy  pain ! 
In  old  Arcadia's  woodland  green, 
When  "the  bright  goddess  of  the  silver  bow," 

Attired  in  sylvan  sheen, 


64  ATHIRST  FOR  LOVE. 

With  merry  triumph  laughed, 
And  sped  the  feathered  shaft : 
Reck'd  she  how  the  stricken  roe, 

Dragged  through  the  lengthening  glades 
And  gloomy  shades 
His  wounded  life  along,  weary  and  slow  ? 
Ah,  no ! 

I  am  athirst  for  love ! 
And  yet,  for  two  long  years, 
Trembling  with  smothered  hopes  and  fears, 
Have  stood  beside  a  bright  inviting  stream 

As  if  'twere  all — a  dream ! 
Nor  ever  sank  upon  my  knee,  to  dip 

Into  the  wave  my  parched  lip ; 
But,  with  a  spell-bound  eye, 
Stood  still,  and  watched  that  sparkling  stream  roll  by. 

And  now  I  go 
Far  from  the  music  of  its  placid  flow ; 
And  bid  that  yearning  love  I  dare  not  tell, 

"  Farewell !  " 
May  27,  1844. 


THE  DESERT  OF  THE  WORLD. 


AN   ALLEGORY. 


Deep  in  the  deserts  wild  of  burning  sand, 

Far  from  my  mountain  home, 
Far  from  the  vales  and  streams  of  Fatherland, 
Alone  I  roam. 

I  see,  at  distance  o'er  the  barren  brown, 

A  placid  lake  at  rest ; 
Shadowy  hills  and  moving  clouds  float  down 
Its  glancing  breast. 

Alas !  the  waters  vanish,  thin  as  light, 

When  thirsty  feet  draw  near ; 
Like  Error,  they  at  distance  cheat  the  sight, 
Then  disappear. 

Over  the  hot  and  heavy  soil  I  tread, 

How  wearily  and  slow  ! 
The  pitiless  sun  beats  down  upon  my  head, 
Yet  on  I  go. 

I  see  the  unburied  bones  of  mighty  hosts, 
In  drifted  sand-hills  near: 


66       THE  DESERT  OF  THE   WORLD. 

I  hear  the  mutterings  of  their  thirsty  ghosts, 
"No  water  here!" 

But  now  far  off  I  see,  cheered  on  once  more, 

A  half-hid  palm-tree  stand ; 
Branch  after  branch,  aloft  it  rises  o'er 
The  sea  of  sand. 

So  to  the  shipwrecked  mariner,  at  last, 

Sinking  in  long  death-strife, 
Over  the  main  comes  on,  with  growing  mast, 
The  ship  of  life. 

The  low  acacia  lifts  its  fragrant  head, 

Planted  beside  the  well ; 
Its  yellow  flowers  o'er  sultry  breezes  spread 
A  pleasant  smell. 

See  the  green  bending  boughs,  how  beautiful, 

Down  o'er  the  fountain  slanting ; 
And  birds  among  the  leaves  shady  and  cool, 
Are  loudly  chanting. 

Hope  nerves  afresh  each  slowly-lagging  limb, 

Onward  I  run,  I  fly ; 
Down  on  my  knees  I  fall  beside  its  brim — 
The  well  is  di*y  1 

"0  God!  a  death  of  thirst!  and  life  all  spent- 
Ended  ere  yet  begun ! 
Fatheb,  it  is  Thy  Hand,  I  am  content : 
Thy  will  be  done !  " 


THE  DESERT  OF  THE    WORLD.  67 

I  lay  me  down  beneath  the  palm ;  the  cup 

My  hands  still  vainly  keep ; 
And  deadly  faintness  wraps  my  senses  up, 
Like  sudden  sleep. 

The  desert  was  not  in  my  dreams,  nor  heat, 

Nor  weariness,  nor  thirst ; 
But  sparkling  from  the  rocks  before  my  feet, 
The  fountain  burst ! 

I  laughed  to  see  the  joyous  streams  all  round 

Run  purling  through  the  plain ; 
And  rustled  in  my  ears  the  plashy  sound 
Of  falling  rain. 

I  woke.    The  cup  was  brimming  in  my  hand, 

The  drops  of  Heaven  still  fell ; 
And  by  my  side,  ran  over  in  the  sand 
The  bubbling  well. 
1843. 


millit  ano  annte. 


A    BALLAD. 


The  Lady  Mary,  at  eventide, 
She  walked  along  the  castle  wall ; 
The  cold  October's  sun  had  set, 
And  dews  began  to  fall. 
Leaning,  with  a  fixed  intent, 
On  the  massive  battlement, 
The  Lady  gazed  with  wistful,  sad  emotion 
Over  the  ocean. 

Attending  on  her  Lady's  steps, 
Her  maid,  fair  Annie,  followed  nigh  ; 
And  sadder  than  her  Lady's  far, 
Was  Annie's  clouded  eye. 
Nor  with  longing  gazed  she 
O'er  the  chill-blue,  sail-less  sea : 
Her  hope,  outwearied  by  the  long  delay, 
Had  died  away. 

Sighing,  the  Lady  Mary  said 
"  Would  that  Earl  Ronald's  ship  were  here  1 " 
But  where  the  Lady  drew  a  sigh, 
Annie  let  fall  a  tear. 


WILLIE  AND  ANNIE.  69 

When  from  Lady  Mary's  eye 
Down  a  tear  stole  silently, 
The  gushing  drops  o'er  Annie's  face  again 
Ran  down  like  rain. 

"  Grieve  not  for  me  so  sorely,  child ; 
Should  he  a  fairer  maiden  see, 
It  would  go  hard  but  I  could  find 

A  knight  more  true  than  he  !  " 
Annie's  bosom,  strangely  throbbing, 
Rose  and  fell  with  sighs  and  sobbing; 
Like  swelling  waves  by  gusty  winds  opprest 
Heaved  Annie's  breast. 

Then,  turning  from  the  gloomy  sea  : 
"  'Tis  not  for  me  those  tears  are  shed  ! 
Come,  tell  me  all  thy  sorrows,  child," 
The  Lady  Mary  said. 
Brokenly,  'mid  sobs  and  sighs, 
Annie  whispering  replies : 
"  False  Willie  vowed  that,  ere  he  went  to  sea, 
He'd  marry  me." 

Then  followed  all  the  artless  tale, 
How,  in  the  springing  month  of  May, 
One  evening  on  the  grassy  bank 
They  both  together  lay  : 
Nightingales  in  twilight  sung  ; 
Closer  side  by  side  they  clung : 
With  many  a  kiss,  and  deep  love-longing  sigh, 
The  hours  flew  by. 


70  WILLIE  AND  ANNIE. 

'Twas  long  since  they  had  promised  both 
The  morrow  should  their  bridal  be ; 
No  wonder  then  they  lay  reclined 
Beneath  the  linden-tree. 
"With  his  arms  twined  round  the  maid, 
Willie  vowed  and  Willie  prayed, 
And  wiled  away,  with  honeyed  soft  pretence, 
Her  innocence. 

But  early  at  the  peep  of  dawn, 
While  sleeping  gentle  Annie  lay, 
And  dreamed  of  Willie's  ardent  love 
And  of  her  bridal  day : 
Ready  Willie's  ship  was  made, 
Sails  were  spread  and  anchor  weighed ; 
Down  on  a  flowing  tide,  with  favoring  breeze, 
He  rode  the  seas  ! 

Listening  into  the  chilly  night, 
The  while  her  color  went  and  came, 
The  Lady  Mary  heard  that  tale 
Of  secret  sin  and  shame. 
Gentle  pity  dropped,  like  dew, 
From  her  eye  of  heavenly  blue, 
And  kindly  were  her  words ;  but  Annie's  grief 
Knew  no  relief. 

The  Autumn  went,  the  Winter  came, 
And  cheerful  Christmas-tide  was  nigh ; 
But  never  more  the  smile  of  joy 
Was  seen  in  Annie's  eye. 


WILLIE  AND  ANNIE.  71 

"  Go  confess  thee,  ere  the  feast," 
Lady  Mary  said.     "  The  priest 
Will  name  thy  penance,  which  may  calm  thy  breast, 
And  give  thee  rest.'' 

Kneeling  before  the  priest,  she  poured 
Her  woes  into  his  aged  ear. 
He  to  the  trembling  sinner  gave 
A  penance  stern  and  drear : 
"  Thrice  for  solitary  prayer 
To  the  Virgin's  shrine  repair ; 
Barefoot,  by  night ;  kneel  there,  with  no  soul  near  thee, 
And  she  will  hear  thee." 

High,  in  a  barren  spot,  this  shrine 
Stood  on  a  crag's  o'erhanging  brow. 
Where  Winter  winds  blew  bleak  and  cold, 
While  the  sea  rolled  deep  below\ 
Here  a  baron's  son  expired, 
By  unholy  passion  fired ; 
The  father  built  this  shrine,  where,  for  the  dead, 
Masses  were  said. 

Upon  the  steep  and  craggy  path 
The  midnight  moon  shone  high  and  clear, 
When  to  the  Virgin's  antique  shrine 
Annie  alone  drew  near. 
Silent  were  the  winds,  and  ocean 
Ceased  his  restless  murmuring  motion, 
While  on  the  ground  before  the  Heavenly  Maid 
Fair  Annie  prayed. 


72  WILLIE  AND  ANNIE. 

The  second  night  the  moon  rode  high, 
But  shed  a  chill  and  misty  light  ; 
And,  from  the  ocean,  dense  and  dank 
Rolled  in  the  sea-fog  white. 
Cheerless  looked  the  Maid  Divine, 
As  she  knelt  before  her  shrine, 
And  soughs  of  wind,  like  living  sighs,  blew  round 
With  dying  sound. 

The  third  night  brings  a  fearful  change. 
O'er  all  the  heaven  thick  darkness  lowers ; 
Down  on  the  whistling  Norwest  wind 
The  driving  sleet-storm  showers. 
Yet  along  the  craggy  path 
Annie  struggles  with  its  wrath, 
While  loud  below,  upon  the  rocky  shore, 

The  hoarse  waves  roar. 

In  vain  her  tear-dimmed  eyes  she  strains 
To  pierce  the  stormy  gloom  around  ; 
While  her  white  feet,  benumbed,  bleed  fast 
On  the  cold  and  jagged  ground. 
Shrill  winds,  through  the  branches  bare, 
Shriek  like  lost  souls  in  despair ; 
And  like  pale  ghosts  the  sleet- white  bushes  stand 
On  either  hand. 

Before  the  Blessed  One,  at  last, 
Annie  her  growing  burden  bore, 
There  panting  sank,  with  weariness 
And  pangs  unknown  before. 


WILLIE  AND   ANNIE.  73 

Yet  she  knelt,  for  all  her  woe, 
Moaning  prayed  at  every  throe, 
Then  down  before  the  shrine,  with  wailings  loud, 
In  anguish  bowed. 

The  Virgin,  from  the  niche  of  stone, 
Beheld  her  pain  with  moveless  eye, 
Nor  "  any  saint  took  pity  on 
That  lonely  agony." 
Folding  faint  her  guilt-born  child, 
Annie  hushed  his  birth-cry  wild, 
And  made  his  cradle,  in  the  wintry  storm, 
Her  bosom  warm. 

Hark !  through  the  rising  gale,  new  sounds 
Of  dismal  horror  fill  the  wood ; 
On  the  rough  path  wild-howling  wolves 
Have  snuffed  the  scent  of  blood ! 
Glowering  through  the  hurtling  air, 
See  their  dull-blue  eyeballs  glare  ! 
"With  rustling  noise,  crushes  the  ice-leaves  dead 
Their  hurrying  tread. 

No  hope  for  gentle  Annie  now  ! 
Snatching  but  time  for  one  short  prayer, 
With  a  long  last  kiss  she  clasped  her  babe ; 
And,  wildered  by  despair. 
Headlong,  like  a  meteor's  light, 
From  the  cliff's  o'erhanging  height 
Adown  she  plunged  ;  and  in  the  seething  deep 
They  fell  asleep. 


74  WILLIE  AND  ANNIE. 

False  Willie's  ship  was  homeward  bound, 
And  on  this  drear  December  day 
The  land-ward  storm-wind  drove  them  on 
Straight  toward  the  rocky  bay. 
Billow-struck,  the  strong  ship  quivered ; 
Sails  were  rent,  the  thick  masts  shivered. 
Night  rushed  down  with  fierce  gale  and  gloomy  cloud ; 
And  on  they  ploughed. 

Cries,  oaths  and  groans,  curses  and  prayers, 
Were  mingled  with  the  tempest's  roar ; 
But  fearless  Willie  mocked  them  all, 

While  hard  on  the  helm  he  bore. 
He  alone  the  storm  defied, 
Laughing,  to  the  cowards  cried : 
"  Nor  God  nor  fiend  fear  I !  and  shall  I  quail 

At  the  sound  of  a  gale  ? " 

When  lo !  along  the  nearing  shore 
He  saw,  by  a  blue  spectre  light, 
Fair  Annie  with  her  new-born  babe, 
In  the  cold,  dreary  night. 
Loud  the  little  infant's  wail 
Pierced  the  shrieking  of  the  gale  ; 
On  Willie's  hardened  soul  the  strange  sound  fell 
Like  a  death-knell. 

Slow  o'er  the  crests  of  fiery  foam, 
He  saw  the  ghostly  figures  glide, 
Rising  and  falling  with  the  waves, 
Up  to  the  vessel's  side. 


WILLIE  AND  ANNIE.  75 

O'er  her  face  of  pale  despair 
Down  hung  Annie's  dripping  hair ; 
The  shivering  babe  close  to  her  bosom  clung, 
While  thus  she  sung : 

"  My  love !  this  is  our  nuptial,  night, 
Deep  in  the  sea  our  bride-bed  lies ; 
And  merry  will  be  the  wedding-feast 

When  the  morning  sun  shall  rise." 
On  her  cheek  glowed  blushes  bright, 
As  upon  that  fatal  night ; 
And,  dimly  branching  o'er  her,  he  could  see 
The  linden-tree. 

Pale  at  the  spectral  sight,  and  dumb 
In  trembling  terror  Willie  stands, 
While,  wrenched  by  the  surge,  the  laboring  helm 
Flies  from  his  palsied  hands. 
O'er  the  deck,  with  deluge  dread, 
Mountain  billows  bow  their  head, 
And  dash  the  false  wretch  in  their  bursting  sweep 
Far  down  the  deep. 

Upon  the  icy  beach,  at  morn, 
Fair  Annie's  lifeless  form  was  found, 
Her  lovely  limbs  at  ease  diffused 
Along  the  frozen  ground. 
With  her  babe  ujDon  her  breast, 
Hushed  too  soon  to  his  last  rest, 
They  kissed  the  margin  of  the  wintry  deep, 
As  yet  asleep. 


76  WILLIE  AND  ANNIE. 

Together  in  their  narrow  bed 
Fair  Annie  and  her  babe  were  laid, 
Where  over  them,  when  Spring-tide  came, 
The  linden  threw  its  shade. 
At  her  head  pale  roses  stand, 
Planted  by  her  lady's  hand, 
Who,  wandering  in  the  summer  twilight,  here 
Sheds  many  a  tear. 

But  high  up  on  the  jagged  rocks, 
False  Willie's  corse  was  thrown  ashore, 
Shattered  and  torn  that  not  a  trace 
Of  human  shape  it  bore. 
Howling  wolves,  by  hunger  urged, 
On  the  mangled  carcase  gorged, 
And  left  to  bleach  among  the  barren  stones 
His  nameless  bones. 

Reader !  hast  thou  like  Willie  sinned, 
Or  like  fair  Annie  gone  astray, 
And  thinkest  God's  eye  did  not  see, 
His  hand  will  not  repay? 
Thou  hast  read  this  story  o'er : 
"  Go  thy  way  and  sin  no  more," 
Lest  horrors,  crowded  round  thy  life's  last  goal, 

O'erwhelm  thy  soul. 
1845. 


^ugfne's  alarm- 


AN    ALLEGORY. 
Written  on  occasion  op  the  Caret  Ordination.* 


Old  Hughie  one  evening  was  on  his  way  home, 

And  as  he  was  crossing  the  heather, 
He  happened  to  think  how  the  Pope  and  the  Devil 

Are  both  in  a  league  together. 

The  moon  was  yet  under  the  hill,  and  the  road 

Was  narrow,  and  dark  was  the  night, 
When  just  as  he  drew  near  his  own  cottage  door, 

He  met  with  a  terrible  fright. 

A  figure  he  saw,  with  two  horns  on  his  head, 

And  his  tail  was  an  emblem  of  evil, 
He  was  all  over  black  from  the  snout  to  the  rump : 

"  Ah  !"  says  Hugh,  "  It's  the  Pope,  or  the  Devil !" 

Now  the  Pope,  you  must  know,  is  a  desperate  foe, 
And  the  Devil's  a  dragon  omnivorous ; 

So  he  down  on  the  spot,  and  he  cried:  "From  the  Pope 
And  the  Devil,  Good  Lord,  deliver  us !" 

*  See  Note  1. 


78  HUGHIE'S  ALARM. 

Then  loud  to  his  next  neighbor  Harry  he  called, 
As  if  fear  with  new  courage  had  manned  him : 

"  The  De'il's  on  the  road,  and  he'll  soon  be  here, 
If  we  don't  go  out  to  withstand  him  I" 

Now  Harry,  thus  startled  just  out  of  a  nap, 

He  swallowed  the  tale  to  a  letter ; 
Though,  being  a  body  "  of  havins  and  sense," 

'Tis  a  pity  he  didn't  know  better. 

Hand-in-hand,  out  they  sallied,  and  cautiously  both 

Reconnoitred  the  spectre  again ; 
But  there  were  the  fierce-looking  horns,  and  the  tail 

They  could  see  in  the  starlight  plain. 

He  stood  in  the  way,  with  a  face  as  huge 

And  as  ugly  as  giant  or  ogress ; 
Like  Apollyon  he  looked,  as  he  straddles  the  road 

In  the  wood-cuts  of  Pilgrim's  Progress. 

Then  off  to  the  Squire  they  both  of  them  ran, 
And  shouted  with  voices  of  thunder : 

"  May  it  please  your  Honor  to  get  out  of  bed, 
For  the  Devil's  just  out  over  yonder  1" 

Then  up  the  Squire  arose  from  bed, 

And  out  the  Squire  did  ride, 
With  Sammy,  and  Benny,  and  Willy,  and  Joe, 

And  one  or  two  more  beside. 


HUGHIE'S  ALARM.  79 

And  soon  the  dim,  dark-looking  figure  they  saw ; 

They  halted,  and  ere  they  drew  nigh, 
Both  Hughie  and  Harry  they  questioned  it  hard, — 

But  they  got  not  a  word  in  reply. 

Sam  carried  the  lantern  ;  they  came  to  the  spot ; 

It  moved  its  broad  lips  in  the  light  ; 
And  when  they  all  put  on  their  spectacles,  what 

Do  you  think  was  the  cause  of  the  fright  ? 

Cries  Sam,  with  sarcastical  grin,  "  It's  a  cow, 

Just  chewing  the  cud  in  her  slumber ; 
And,  Hugh,  if  you  have  not  been  making  a  bull, 

You've  made  a  deuce  of  a  blunder  /" 


The  Squire  looked  glum,  though  he  smiled  at  the  pun ; 

Quoth  he,  "  This  joke  may  amuse  you  all ; 
But  as  we  all  know  that  a  cow  is  a  cow, 

We'll  proceed  to  our  beds  just  as  usual." 

Then  some  they  said  one  thing,  and  some  they  said  more, 

An  insult,  some  said,  was  intended ; 
And  Benjamin  swore  no  black  cow  before 

Had  e'er  been  so  misrepresented. 

Then  sensitive  Joe  began  wiping  his  eyes, — 

Of  sleep  't  was  a  deeply-felt  outlay ; 
"While  Willy  looked  wiser  than  ever  he  was, 

And  joined  the  majority  stoutly. 


80  HUGHIE'S  ALARM. 

Poor  Harry  kept  still,  for  lie  felt  like  a  fool : 

But,  born  with  a  genius  commanding, 
Bold  Hughie  maintained  they  were  all  in  the  wrong, 

And  the  cow  was  the  DeHl  notwithstanding ! 

"  For  both,"  as  he  said,  "  have  got  horns  on  their  head, 

And  both  have  got  tails  behind  them ; 
And  if  cloven  hoofs  arn't  infallible  proofs, 

Pray  where  the  De'il  will  you  find  them  ?" 

The  story  got  wind ;  and  the  boys  of  the  town, — 

Though  I  own  it  was  not  very  civil, — 
When  they  saw  him,  all  ran,  shouting  "  There  goes  the 
man 

Wot  took  a  black  cow  for  the  Devil !" 

Aug.  7,  1843. 


A  POET  IN  THE  DOG-DAYS. 


A  man  who  thinks  as  I  do,  and  is  not  very  vicious, 
Though  over  head  and  ears  in  debt,  will  find  it  most 

delicious, — 
Provided  he's  a  Poet,  and  the  Muses  are  propitious, — 
To   sit    and  sing  with  every  thing  according  to  his 

wishes ! 


If,  in  the  sultry  dog-days,  when  others  are  perspiring, 
And  grazing  cows  are  keeping  off  the  flies  with  tail 

untiring, 
He  in  a  grotto  can  recline,  some  lovely  scene  admiring, 
While  birds  with  chirping,  warbling  throats  among  the 

trees  are  quiring; — 


If  all  the  ills  in  Church  and  State  he  for  the  time  is 
blind  to, 

If  no  dyspepsy  plagues  him,  and  his  lady-love  is  kind 
too, 

And  nothing  else  below  the  moon  he  feels  himself  con- 
fined to, 

But  just  to  think  and  scribble  down  whatever  he's  a 
mind  to : 


82  A  POET  IN  THE  DOG-DATS. 

What  though  his  crusty  creditors  greet  him  with  mut- 
tered curses  ? 

What  though  his  hat  is  "  shocking  bad,"  or  very  lean  his 
purse  is? 

If  in  the  shade  he,  all  day  long,  can  sit  and  sing  his 
verses, 

I'm  sure  he  ought  to  thank  the  Lobd  for  all  His  tender 
mercies ! 

July  20th,  1847. 


^Epigrams. 


A  LITERAEY  THIEF. 

From  the  French. 

"  On  vient  de  me  voler !"    "  Que  je  plains  vos  malheurs !" 
u  Tous    mes  vers  nianuscrits !"       "  Que   je   plains  les 
voleurs !" 

"  Some  rascal  has  robbed  me !"     "I  pity  your  grief!" 
"  All  my  manuscript  verses !"    "  I  pity  the  thief!" 
1840. 


"HONORABLE    SATISFACTION." 

When  ruin  some  loose  scoundrel  brings 

Upon  your  honest  fame, 
Vengeance  nor  heals  your  bleeding  heart 

Nor  clears  the  branded  shame. 

But  if  to  shoot  you  down  beside 

He  does  the  best  he  can, 
You've  all  the  "  satisfaction  "  then 

That's  "  due  to  a  gentleman  I" 
1843. 


84  EPIGRAMS, 

TO   THE   MAN  OF  THE    WORLD. 

If  you  are  wise,  just  use  your  friend 

Like  a  cigar,  I  say  ; 

Suck  him  as  long  as  you  can  draw, 

Then  throw  the  wretch  away ! 
1840. 


BALNEA,  VINA,  VENUS. 
Fbom  the  Latin. 
Balnea,  vina,  Venus,  vitae  deliciae :  sed  et 
Corpora  corrumpunt  balnea,  vina,  Venus. 

Bathing  and  Women  and  Wine  corrupt  these  members 

of  ours:  yet 
What  are  the  pleasures  of  life  ?    Bathing,  and  Women, 

and  Wine. 
1865.  , 

AUNT   SUSAN'S   BELT. 

"  Thou  belt  of  dear  Aunt  Susan,  pray 

Tell  why  so  long  thou  art  ?" 
"  Because,  in  circling  round  her  waist, 

I  go  all  round  her  heart." 


1844. 


ON    "RUBETA." 

If  dulness  makes  a  Poem  long, 

Rubeta,  then  are  you 
Long  as  the  Mississippi  River, 

And  quite  as  dirty,  too. 


EPIGRAMS.  85 


ON   DR.    G 


The  Doctor,  when  young,  was  a  smug-looking  beau, 
His  wife  had  good  wit,  though  no  beauty  to  show ; 
So  in  wedlock  they  went  in  for  partnership  gains, 
For  which  he  brought  the  beauty,  she  furnished  the 
brains. 
1843. 


ON  THE   SAME. 

After  his  second  Address  in  Savannah. 

The  Doctor's  first  Address  showed  no 

Stupidity  or  blunders ; 
This  time  he  proves  himself  a  fool, 

And  every  body  wonders. 
"  Where  is  the  Doctor's  wit  and  sense  ? 

Where  is  his  taste  refined  ?" 
Just  where  they  were  before,  good  folk, 

But  he  left  Mrs.  G behind ! 

1843. 


PRESIDENT  DAY'S  PRAYERS. 

Day's  long  petitions  were  delightful ; 
From  morn  they  lasted  until  nightfall : 
For  when  to  pray  he  once  begun, 
Day  never  stopped  till  day  was  done. 
1844. 


86  EPIGRAMS. 


SUMMER    DANCING. 

The  maiden  may  prize  her  liquid  eyes, 
Her  charms  may  be  called  divine ; 

But  beauty  may  be  too  tender  for  me, 
When  it  runs  in  the  melting  line. 

Let  others  advance  to  the  bounding  dance 
With  the  girl  of  their  adoration, 

And  together  enjoy,  without  alloy, 
The  pleasures  of  perspiration. 

If  I  may  gaze  on  the  sweltering  maze, 
Like  a  cool  and  dignified  Turk, 

Be  it  my  delight  to  enjoy  the  sight, 
While  others  perform  the  work. 

But  ask  me,  for  pleasure, 
To  dance  you  a  measure, 
When  crowded  together, 
In  hot  summer  weather, 
On  the  sultriest  evenings  of  June  or  July  ?  - 

1846.  NotI1 


"TEMPERANCE  DICK." 

"Drinking,"  says  Dick,  "is  sinful,  without  doubt; 

For  when  the  wine  is  in,  the  wit  is  out." 

But  if  the  lack  of  wit  makes  man  a  toper, 

Pray  when,  since  he  was  born,  has  Dick  been  sober  ? 

1843. 


EPIGRAMS.  87 

HUMANITARIAN  PHILOSOPHERS. 

"  God  without  Christ,  and  Christ  without  the  Church  !" 
'Tis  thus  for  Truth  our  modern  sages  search, 
Yet  Truth  for  ever  leaves  thein  in  the  lurch. 

Religion,  grounded  in  a  faithful  heart, 

Is  the  great  Soul  of  Truth  ;  Science  and  Art 

Are  but  her  outer  and  her  baser  part. 


Fatal  to  her  the  love  of  hearts  perverse ! 
Soaring  to  Heaven,  that  godlike  soul  of  hers 
Leaves  but  her  carcase  to  her  murderers. 

1847. 


ANTICIPATION 

OP  THE 

lamoetib    Conference. 


From  the  "First  Annual  Address  op  the  Carrier  op  The 
Church  Journal,"  New  Year's  Day,  1854.* 


[The  opening  alludes  to  the  presence  of  Bishop  Spencer  and  the  other 
English  Clergymen,  who  came  over  to  attend  the  General  Convention 
of  1853.] 


One  brighter  beam,  of  all  the  starry  year, 
Shines  out  beyond  the  rest,  with  lustre  clear. 
Across  the  deep  behold  our  Brethren  come, 
From  their  own  land,  from  our  ancestral  home, 
To  knit  more  closely  still  the  loving  band, 
With  all  who  on  the  same  Foundation  stand. 
Warm  was  their  welcome.     Hearts  were  deeply  stirred, 
Where'er  their  words  of  winning  love  were  heard. 
And  when  they  parted  hence,  their  errand  o'er, 
What  crowds  went  clustering  round  them  to  the  shore ! 
What  fervent,  deep  farewells  their  brethren  gave ; 
What  prayers  went  with  them  o'er  the  Atlantic  wave  1 

And  was  this  all  ? 

No.    From  the  obscure  womb 
Of  the  wide  future,  distant  visions  loom, 

*  See  Note  2. 


LAMBETH  COXFERENCE.  89 

All  slow  and  shadowy ;  yet,  to  faithful  eyes, 

In  form  and  substance  fair  they  seem  to  rise. 

From  England's  realm  the  assembled  Bishops  see, 

Gathered  once  more,  for  solemn  Synod  free ; 

State  shackles — broken,  cast  off,  once  for  all — 

Shall  henceforth  never  more  their  powers  enthrall. 

With  them  their  brethren   stand  —  from   mountainous 

Wales ; 
From  Ireland's  soft,  green  hills,  and  richer  vales ; 
From  Scotland's  rugged  rocks,  'mid  northern  seas; 
From  frozen  Iceland,  and  the  Hebrides; 
From  Sweden's  ancient  cities,  marts  and  mines; 
From  Norway's  fiords  and  overhanging  pines ; 
From  wide  America's  outspread  domain, 
Stretching  from  sea  to  sea :   and  north,  again, 
'Till  Greenland,  Labrador,  and  Newfoundland 
Send  Bishops,  too,  to  join  the  lengthening  band 
That  comes  from  tropic  isles ;  and  westward,  on, 
Till  golden  California,  Oregon, 
And  myriad  isles  that,  in  their  blindness,  be 
Like  emeralds  set  within  a  silver  sea, 
That  wait  but  morning's  sun  rising  in  sight, 
To  leap  at  once  from  darkness  into  light ; 
From  twin  New-Zealand's  deep-indented  shores ; 
From  vast  Australia's  mines  of  shining  ores ; 
From  Borneo,  Burmah,  China,  and  Japan ; 
From  dusky  plains,  and  groves  of  Indostan  ; 
From  dark  Caffraria ;  from  the  deadly  coasts 
Whence  slavery  long  has  shipped  her  shackled  hosts ; 
From  steep  Gibraltar's  rock : — from  all  the  earth, 
Sons  gather  round  the  cradle  of  their  birth. 


90  LAMBETH  CONFERENCE, 

In  spotless  robes  I  see  them  move  along, 
Passing  on  either  hand — a  joyous  throng — 
Then  enter  through  its  western  portals ;  while, 
Through  Canterbury's  huge  Cathedral  pile 
Unnumbered  thousands,  with  glad  voices,  raise 
The  overwhelming  burst  of  choral  praise. 
Up  the  long  nave  they  pace,  then,  mounting  higher 
And  higher,  the  line  ascends  the  rising  choir ; 
'Till,  rank  on  rank,  their  numbers  multiplied 
'Compass  the  Altar  round  on  every  side. 
There,  let  the  full  Te  Deum  roll  and  swell ; 
The  Catholic  Creed  its  faithful  oneness  tell ; 
Then  let  the  sacred  Gifts  be  offered  up — 
Break  the  pure  Bread,  and  bless  the  ruddy  Cup. 
Then,  from  full  hearts,  from  greatest  unto  least, 
With  breath  yet  fragrant  from  the  heavenly  Feast, 
The  whole  immense  assembly  lift  the  strain, 
That,  long  ago,  on  Bethlehem's  star-lit  plain, 
Angels  began,  and  Saints  shall  never  cease : — 
"  Glory  to  God  on  high  :  and  on  earth  peace  !" 
In  sacred  Council  seated  soon,  I  see 
The  assembled  Church  prepare  its  firm  decree. 

But,  lo  !  the  sudden  shadows  envious  rise. 
And  veil  the  glorious  vision  from  mine  eyes. 
Yet  from  the  cloud  a  voice,  like  trumpet  clear, 
Kings  forth,  and  earth's  remotest  bounds  obedient  hear ! 

1853. 


OPENING 

OP  THE 

Crimean  22Jar: 

THE  HOPE  OP 

€&e  ©riental  Cfmttfr. 


From  the  Address  op  the  Carrier  op  The  Church  Journal, 
New  Year's  Day,  1855. 


Thkough  all  this  year,  the  rising  clouds  of  war 
Have  dark  and  darker  lowered  from  afar. 
On  either  side  of  Danube's  rolling  flood, 
In  wide-spread  ranks,  have  bristling  armies  stood, 
From  Widdin's  western  towers,  to  where  thou  see'st 
Ibraila's  ramparts  guard  the  marshy  east : 
And  in  his  central  stronghold,  half  between, 
Nestled  among  the  Balkans,  might  be  seen 
Schumla's  embattled  camp,  where  Omar  lay, 
Like  an  old  spider  watching  for  his  prey. 
The  crossing  of  the  Danube  who  shall  tell  ? 
When  Tultscha,  Matschin  and  Isakcha  fell ; 
Until  before  Silistria's  walls  they  halt. 
But  all  in  vain  they  urge  the  fierce  assault ; 
A  Prussian  there,  and  two  of  Albion's  sons, 
Teach  Turks  to  stand  the  fire  of  Russian  guns ; 


92  THE  CRIMEAN  WAR. 

And  these  three — in  themselves  a  host — drive  back 
The  Czar's  foiled  thousands  on  their  homeward  track. 
Thence  spread  the  strong  recoil,  till  Russia's  force 
Rolled  back  once  more  within  its  rightful  course ; 
And  o'er  the  Argisch,  o'er  the  Sereth  too, 
And  o'er  the  Pruth,  their  backward  troops  withdrew : 
"While,  unopposed,  at  Bucharest  appear 
Austrians  and  Turks,  close  following  on  their  rear. 


But  deeper  thrills  the  heart  of  Christendom, 
When  on  the  scene  the  Allied  armies  come ; 
When  at  Gallipoli  long  lines  are  drawn ; 
When  to  Scutari  England's  Guards  float  on ; 
When  within  Varna's  walls,  on  Devno's  plain, 
Ten  thousand  by  the  pestilence  are  slain, 
Through  the  long  summer  dying  fast,  although 
They  never  yet  had  even  seen  the  foe. 
But  with  what  joy  the  morning  light  was  hailed, 
When,  with  their  white  wings  spread,  the  vast  fleets 

sailed, 
And  ploughed  with  wind  and  steam  their  eastward  way, 
Until  they  rode  in  Kalamita  Bay. 
Thence  to  the  dark-browed  Alma,  on  whose  heights 
Was  seen  the  rarest  of  all  earthly  sights, — 
Two  nations,  that  for  thousand  years  had  met 
But  face  to  face  in  deadly  battle  set : 
Now,  rushing  up  the  death-steep  side  by  side, 
Together  fought,  together  bled  and  died. 
What  though  the  hill  were  high,  the  ramparts  strong 
What  though  their  cannonade  were  loud  and  long  ? 


THE  CRIMEAN  WAR.  93 

Well  might  the  Cossack  flee  in  dire  alarms ; 

Such  union  may  defy  the  world  in  arms  1 

Who  thence  shall  track  the  rapid  march  that  led, 

Still  onward  from  this  harvest  of  the  dead  ? 

The  siege-works  slow,  the  thunders  of  the  fleets ; 

The  fires,  explosions,  sorties  and  retreats ; 

The  bloody  charge  on  Balaklava's  plain, 

When  England's  noblest  rode  to  death,  in  vain ; 

The  gloomier,  deadlier  day  of  Inkermann, 

When  streams  of  gore,  deeper  than  ever,  ran, 

And,  as  before,  a  handful  met  a  host, 

And  crushed  in  carnage  their  presumptuous  boast. 

And  what  shall  be  the  end  ?    As  yet,  who  knows  ? 

None  can  tell  now,  while  their  fresh  blood  still  flows, 

Their  cannon  still  boom  heavily,  and  their 

Unended  roar  still  trembles  on  the  frozen  air. 

What  bow  of  hope  shines  brightly  from  afar, 
Spanning,  to  Christian  eyes,  this  storm  of  war  ? 
Why  doth  the  heart  of  Christendom  thus  turn, 
Gaze  toward  the  East,  and  as  it  gazes  burn  ? 
Why  doth  the  rage  of  mighty  Russia  rise, 
With  stern  resolve  relentless  as  her  skies  ? 
Why  doth  the  English  pulse  throb  strong  and  fast  ? 
Why  France  and  Italy  forget  the  past, 
In  eager  clutching  for  the  future  prize, 
Which  all  see  gleaming  now  before  their  eyes  ? 
'Tis  thou,  O  Holy  Eastern  Church,  'tis  thou, 
To  whom  all  eyes,  all  hearts  are  turning  now ! 
Long  as  a  captive  Bride,  in  tears  and  chains, 
Long  in  vile  weeds,  sullied  with  scorns  and  stains, 


94  THE  CRIMEAN  WAR. 

Long  hast  thou  sat  upon  the  ground,  in  grief, 

Waiting  till  day-spring  dawn  for  thy  relief. 

Now  is  thy  day  at  hand !    The  Crescent  moon 

Is  waning,  and  shall  die  in  darkness  soon, 

Quenched  by  the  friendship  of  the  Allies  more 

Than  all  that  Russian  arms  could  do  before : 

While  thy  bright  Cross,  breaking  through  clouds  and 

wars, 
Shall  shine  once  more  among  its  kindred  stars. 
Shake  off  the  ashes  from  thy  bending  head ! 
Rise  from  among  the  dying  and  the  dead ! 
Pluck  from  thy  shoulders,  once  for  all,  the  yoke 
That  bowed  thee  down,  and  thy  free  spirit  broke ! 
Purge  all  thy  dross  away !     The  crusted  rind 
Remove,  which  slavish  times  have  left  behind ! 
Fresh  life-blood  leap  along  thy  leaden  limbs  ! 
Thy  long-hushed  voice  shout  forth  triumphal  hymns ! 
Let  thy  mute  towers  ring  with  loud-pealing  bells, 
Aye,  even  where  Saint  Sophia's  dome  yet  swells, 
Awaiting  thy  return  to  wake  once  more 
The  strains  her  vaults  resounded  with  of  yore. 
Put  all  thy  beauteous  garments  on,  as  when 
Of  old  thy  splendor  charmed  the  eyes  of  men  :— 
And  thou  shalt  be  the  bond  of  peace  between 
The  nations  now  in  deadly  struggle  seen ; — 
A  struggle,  where  each  stroke  is  struck  for  thee, 
Helping,  on  either  hand,  to  set  thee  free ; — 
A  struggle,  which,  when  thou  art  free,  shall  cease, 
And  thou  to  all  restore  the  imperial  palm  of  Peace. 
1854. 


SECOND  YEAR  OF 
THE  CEIMEAN  WAK : 

€f)e  Crescent  anD  tfce  Cross. 


From  the  Address  of  the  Carrier  op  The  Church  Journal, 
New  Year's  Day,  1856. 


In  every  week,  through  all  this  peaceful  year, 
While  plenty  smiled,  and  harvests  ripened  here, 
Your  Carrier's  hands  have  laid  before  your  door 
Tidings  of  "War — mute  echoes  of  the  roar 
Of  huge  artillery  on  the  embattled  shore 
Where  rough  barbaric  Russ  surrounded  stands,. 
In  his  own  lair  at  bay  'mid  hostile  bands. 
And  who  can  tell  what  yet  the  end  shall  be, 
Or  say  what  living  eye  that  end  shall  see  ? 

St.  Arnaud's  thread  of  life  spun  out  not  far — 
Snapped  by  the  first  vibration  of  the  war ; 
Nicholas,  whose  ambition  laid  the  train 
And  fired  the  explosion  dread,  now  meets  his  slain 
Before  that  Bar  where  Serf  and  Czar  are  one ; 
And  Raglan,  gentle  Raglan,  too,  is  gone ! 
Three  chiefs  of  war :  yet  none  among  them  all 
Fell  by  the  sword,  as  soldiers  love  to  fall. 


96  THE   CRESCENT  AND   THE   CROSS. 

Disease  stole  over  them,  Death  cut  them  short, 
One  on  the  Sea;  before  the  unfallen  Fort 
Another ;  and  the  imperial  third,  at  ease 
Reclined  within  his  curtained  palaces. 

Yet,  fall  who  may,  the  battle  still  rolls  on, 
For  ever  doing,  and  yet  never  done. 
I'  the  foreground,  Death,  Fire,  Blood,  breed  deadly  bale 
Widows  and  orphans  in  the  distance  wail : 
Crime  and  disease  instinctive  wing  their  way 
To  hostile  camps,  as  vultures  to  their  prey : 
Till  War  combines,  in  one  portentous  birth, 
A  compend  dire  of  all  the  woes  of  earth. 
Yet  Science  strains  its  utmost  strength  and  skill, 
In  forging  vaster,  deadlier  means  to  kill ; 
The  Arts  adorn  it  with  their  brightest  charms ; 
Fame  sounds  her  loudest  trump  for  deeds  of  arms ; 
Whole  empires — shouldering  taxes  without  end — 
On  troops  and  fleets  their  mightiest  millions  spend : 
Till  one  would  think  that,  by  our  Maker's  plan, 
Murder  must  be  the  one  great  end  of  Man. 

But  how — 'mid  all  this  bloody  butcher's  work 
Of  Christian  slaughtering  Christian — fares  the  Turk  ? 
Some  dreamers  dream  that,  by  the  arms  of  France 
And  England,  Turkish  power  must  now  advance  ; 
Mohammed's  dying  creed  revive ;  and  soon 
The  waning  Crescent  shine  a  round  full  moon. 
Fools  !  frightened  at  the  shadow  of  a  shade ! 
Find,  if  you  can,  how  branches  may  be  made 


THE  CRESCENT  AND   THE  CROSS.  97 

Again  to  flourish,  firm  and  fair  and  free, 
After  once  dropping,  rotted,  from  the  tree ; 
Invent  some  subtle  drink,  stronger  than  Doom, 
By  -which  an  old  man,  bearing  to  his  tomb 
The  loathed  diseases  of  a  life  of  crime, 
May  be  restored  to  youth's  all-glowing  prime: 
Then  may  ye  show  us  how  the  Turkish  grain, 
Mildewed  and  blighted,  may  yet  spring  again, 
With  vital  power,  long  after  it  is  found 
'Twixt  upper  and  the  nether  mill-stone  ground. 
France  is  the  upper  stone,  with  restless  force 
Still  rushing  onward  in  her  conquering  course ; 
"With  solid,  stolid,  all-enduring  power, 
The  might  of  England  answers  to  the  lower : 
While  Turkey — grateful  for  the  deeds  they  do — 
Is  surely  ground  to  powder  'twixt  the  two. 

Sad  for  the  Czar  is  Sebastopol's  fall : 
But  to  the  Sultan  bodes  it  worst  of  all ! 
Each  new  success  of  these  his  kind  Allies 
Adds  to  the  friendly  weight  by  which  he  dies. 
Each  Allied  victory,  fatal  as  the  grave, 
Strikes  at  the  sovereignty  they  came  to  save. 
Ripe  for  its  well-earned  ruin,  it  is  made 
To  stand  by  means  that  weaken  while  they  aid — 
Aid  all  unneeded,  were  the  sturdy  tone 
Of  independence  not  already  gone. 
The  Frenchman's  shrug,  the  bullying  Briton's  frown, 
Set  Moslem  statesmen  up,  or  strike  them  down. 
And  well  they  may :  for,  from  the  Great  Divan 
To  the  remotest  province,  every  man 
5 


98  THE   CRESCENT  AND   THE   CROSS. 

Is  eager  to  be  bribed.     Each  post  and  place, 
From  Three-tailed  Pasha  down,  is  taxed — and  pays. 
Each  great  man's  favor  has  its  weight  in  gold ; 
And,  at  the  market  price,  is  bought  and  sold. 
One  law  alone  rules  all  their  venal  tribes: 
Justice  is  blind — to  every  thing  but  bribes. 
The  Sultan's  self  full  well  deserves  to  reign 
O'er  men  with  but  two  passions — lust  and  gain. 
The  slave-mart  is  his  court  of  love.    He  buys 
His  numerous  wives :  then,  at  the  highest  price, 
He  sells  his  daughters  to  his  rich  Pashas. 
Yet  all  their  sons  and  his  (save  one),  for  cause 
Of  deep  state  policy,  are  born  to  die. 
In  vain  the  poor  slave-mother's  piercing  cry ! 
The  twisted  sash  is  all  the  swaddling  band 
That  her  doomed  sons  can  find.    A  servile  hand 
Flings  her  loved  burden  in  the  silent  wave. 
One  only  heir  is  left, — son  of  a  slave, — 
To  mount  a  throne  whose  steps  of  solid  sin 
Are  slippery  with  the  blood  of  all  his  kin. 

Aye !  let  the  Crescent  fall !    And  while  it  dies, 
Paled  by  the  glories  of  the  western  skies, 
Lo !  Christendom  looks  up,  with  kindling  eyes, 
And  sees  the  Eastern  Cross  in  triumph  rise ! 
Already  do  the  Christian  Powers  erase 
Laws  branding  Christians  as  a  subject  race. 
Christians  now  lead  the  armies  of  the  Porte ; 
Christians  control  her  Councils  and  her  Court ; 
Make  and  unmake  her  laws ;  take  all  she  gets; 
Live  in  her  palaces ;  thrive  on  her  debts ; 


THE  CRESCENT  AND   THE   CROSS.  99 

Levy  her  tribute;  seize  on  all  her  powers; 

Fill  Stamboul's  mosques  with  swarms  of  booted  Giours ; 

And,  to  absorb  the  whole,  coolly  prepare : 

While  the  Old  Turk  stands  glowering  by,  nor  dare 

Be  aught  but  grateful ;  though  full  well  he  knows 

These  hugging  friends  to  be  Ins  deadliest  foes ! 

With  grim  despair  he  now  is  made  to  feel 

That  the  tough  race,  long  spurned  beneath  his  heel— 

The  race  that  for  four  hundred  years  has  borue 

His  bloody  scourge  of  cruelty  and  scorn, — 

Rapidly  rising,  may,  at  any  hour, 

Snatch  from  his  failing  grasp  the  reins  of  power, 

And  sweep  him  forth,  with  fierce  avenging  flame, 

Back  to  the  Asian  deserts,  whence  he  came. 

Yes !  year  by  year,  well  may  a  dwindling  line 

Of  Pilgrims  seek  decaying  Mecca's  shrine  ! 

Well  may  Jerusalem  exult  in  throngs 

Of  gathering  sons ;  change  silence  into  songs ; 

And,  thrilling  all  her  hallowed  hills  and  dells, 

Ring  with  the  pealing  chimes  of  Christian  bells ! 

Alas !  that,  when  the  Crescent's  light  shall  cease, 
The  Cross  shall  bring  but  Victory,  not  Peace ! 
Greek  and  Armenian  still  contend  with  zeal 
For  faiths  both  fight  for,  more  than  either  feel ; 
The  old  she-wolf  of  Rome,  with  hungry  power, 
Is  seeking,  ravenous,  whom  she  may  devour : 
While — sure  that  these  are  tottering  to  their  fall — 
Pitiless  Protestants  make  war  on  all. 
But  let  this  war,  0  Eastern  Church,  restore 
The  spirit-weapons  that  were  thine  of  yore ! 


100  THE   CRESCENT  AND   THE  CROSS. 

Bring  out  from  dusty  shelves  and  language  dead, 

The  Heroes  of  the  Faith  thy  bosom  fed ! 

Remove  the  scars  and  stains 'that  sword  and  storm 

Have  left  uncomely  on  thy  peerless  form ! 

Armed  from  thy  arsenals  of  ancient  Truth, 

Renew  the  eagle-vigor  of  thy  youth  1 

With  old  Chalcedon's  trenchant  blade,  again 

Send  back  the  she-wolf  howling  to  her  den ! 

Teach  Protestants  to  yield  the  private  I 

To  the  One  Voice  of  all  antiquity ! 

And  thus  shalt  thou,  with  renovated  powers, 

Stand  side  by  side  with  England's  Church  and  ours, 

Firm  on  the  ancient  Apostolic  ground, 

On  which  alone  the  whole  Church  once  was  found : 

On  which  alone,  while  God  and  Truth  remain, 

All  Christendom  can  ever  stand  again. 

1855. 


IPolittcal  Prcaciring- 


From  the  Address  op  the  Carriers  op  The  Church  Journal, 
New  Year's  Day,  1857. 


No  more  our  New- Year  greeting  ushers  in 
The  blood-stained  field,  and  war's  sulphureous  din 
Where  eastern  vultures  lately  tore  the  slain, 
The  Dove  of  Peace  now  gently  broods  again. 

But  in  our  own  more  favored  land,  a  war 
Has  raged  'midst  brethren,  more  disgraceful  far ; — 
North  against  South,  and  South  against  the  North : 
While  each  excited  section  has  sent  forth 
Its  troops  of  armed  marauders  to  infest, 
And  fight  for  mastery  in,  the  distant  West. 
Kansas  was  "  bleeding  "  all  the  summer  through ; 
And  politicians  had  enough  to  do, 
Whether  to  heal  the  wounds  and  shirk  the  blame, 
Or  keep  them  bleeding  till  November  came  : — 
For  men,  like  bulls,  go  blind  with  rage,  'tis  said, 
At  sight  of  any  little  rag  of  red  ; 
And  demagogues  by  trade  are  therefore  glad 
Of  any  chance  to  make  the  people  mad. 
Thus  through  the  land,  on  every  side,  there  rung 
The  bitter  railings  of  the  slanderous  tongue  ; 


102  POLITICAL  PREACHING. 

While  bludgeon-blows  laid,  weltering  in  his  gore, 
A  Senator  upon  the  Senate  floor. 

And  soon  the  popular  pulpit  caught  the  rage ! 
No  longer  Gospel  schemes  its  powers  engage. 
Religion  yields  her  place  awhile,  till  first 
Fremont  "  saves  "  Kansas  from  a  "  doom  accurst :" 
Or  till  Buchanan's  righteous  reign  once  more 
Shall  "  save  the  Union," — often  saved  before. 
This  "  gospel  of  the  Times,"  with  all  its  vaunts, 
Sadly  burlesques  the  Gospel  it  supplants. 
Satan  no  longer  is  its  Prince  of  Evil, 
But  "  Slavery  extension  "  is  its  Devil. 
Its  Hell  is  simply — "  Southern  Domination  ;" 
Its  Kingdom  Come — "  the  next  Administration !" 
Well  may  it  drop,  on  every  light  pretence, 
The  things  of  God,  for  those  of  time  and  sense. 
Made  but  by  man,  that  ministry  of  earth 
Bows  and  obeys  the  power  that  gave  it  birth. 
For  when  men  make  a  ministry,  'tis  not 
To  teach,  but  rather  represent  the  taught. 
The  People  give  the  text,  then  give  the  cue, 
And,  when  they  please,  they  give  the  sermon  too ! 
Not  that,  in  truth,  their  preachers  thus  depart 
From  any  deep  convictions  of  the  heart: 
'Tis  that  their  hearts  no  deep  convictions  know, 
But  while  the  People  love  to  have  it  so. 
No  man  makes  his  religion  for  himself, 
But  when  he  lays  religion  on  the  shelf. 
Rebel  against  the  Church  of  God,  he  can ; 
But  thus  enslaves  him  to  the  Church  of  man. 


POLITICAL  PREACHING.  103 

As  in  the  former,  every  truth,  when  known, 

At  once  is  welcomed  to  the  royal  throne : 

So,  in  the  latter,  each  prevailing  whim 

The  votary  owns,  as  so  much  "  truth  "  for  him. 

The  changeful  stars  he  shuns :  but  on  the  vane 

Fixes  his  eye,  and  shifts  and  shifts  again ; 

Profoundly  certain  that,  each  time  he  turns, 

Some  deeper  "  faith  "  his  honest  soul  discerns ! 

Should  the  tee- total  mania  be  the  cry, 

"Tee-total!"  all  the  sounding-boards  reply. 

Should  Abolition  make  the  People  groan 

O'er  evils  they  have  never  seen  nor  known : 

The  Pulpits  all  with  one  consent  obey, 

And  ring  with  "  Slavery  /"  every  "  Sabbath  day." 

And  thus,  of  course,  when  politics  run  high, 

Their  preachers,  finding  the  old  Gospel  dry, 

From  platforms  into  pulpits  nimbly  jump, 

Stuffing  their  sermons  full  with  stealings  from  the  stump. 

And  Rome,  who  has  the  gift  of  God  indeed, 
Whose  martyrs  in  old  time  were  wont  to  bleed 
For  that  pure  Faith  which  her  base  sons  o'erlay — 
Parade  in  words,  but  in  their  works  betray — 
Rome  is  the  worst  in  this.     What  others  do 
In  weakness,  failing  from  the  good  and  true, 
She  does  of  firm,  set  purpose.     They  are  made 
By  frailty,  what  she  makes  herself  by  trade. 
Both  swords  she  claims.     All  temporal  power  she  grasps 
In  theory ;  and  whene'er  she  can,  she  clasps 
In  such  intense  embrace,  that,  ere  her  heart 
Resigns  its  prize,  life  will  itself  depart ! 


104  POLITICAL  PREACHING. 

In  this  our  land  she  rouses  deadly  hate 

By  boldly  thus  combining  "  Church  and  State." 

Her  "  Organs  "  all  take  part  in  politics, 

Mingling  religion  with  vile  party  tricks. 

In  solid  phalanx  all  their  strength  they  strain; 

In  solid  phalanx  fight  the  whole  campaign : 

Then,  for  these  spiritual  cares  and  toils, 

Like  other  patriots,  claim  their  share  of  spoils. 

While  their  Archbishop,  honest  man  and  meek,* 

Mum  as  a  mouse  through  all  the  fight,  will  speak 

And  gently  tell  them, — when  the  election's  done — 

"He  thinks  they'd  best  let  politics  alone!" 

The  same  unworldly  spirit  runs  through  all 

Their  deeds  and  dealings,  both  with  great  and  small. 

Vast  funds  they  draw  from  Europe's  distant  shore ; 

From  silly  Protestants  they  wheedle  more  ; 

From  their  own  poor,  enormous  sums  they  wring, 

Yet  make  them  pay,  besides,  for  everything : 

And  all  they  get  in  their  anointed  hands, 

They  vest  in  city  lots  and  western  lands. 

The  sacraments  are  never  "  sold,"  they  say, 

But  only  "  given  " — where  they  are  sure  of  pay : 

And,  without  cash,  masses  are  never  said 

For  benefit  of  either  quick  or  dead. 

Which  then  is  worst  ?    Those  who  the  Church  desert  ? 

Or  those  who  thus  her  highest  powers  pervert  ? 

Better  the  soldiers  who,  in  blindness,  cast 

Their  lots  upon  Christ's  vesture :  than  at  last 


*  The  reference  is  to  the  late  Archbishop  Hughes. 


POLITICAL  PREACHING.  105 

Be  found  a  true  Apostle,  who  yet  sold 

His  Lord,  like  Judas,  through  his  greed  for  gold ! 

Not  so  the  Church  of  God :  for  she  can  show 
Her  title  from  above,  not  from  below. 
Ordained  by  Christ  in  Apostolic  hands ; 
By  them  extended  wide  throughout  all  lands ; 
In  line  unbroken  handing  down  her  powers, 
Perpetual,  through  all  ages  down  to  ours : 
No  petty  questions  vex  her  heart  and  mind, 
Great  with  Salvation's  gift  for  all  mankind. 
With  Faith  proclaimed  by  all  the  saints  of  yore, 
Held  everywhere,  by  all,  and  evermore ; — 
Channel  of  Grace  breathed  forth  by  Jesus'  Breath  ; 
Entrusted  with  the  Keys  of  Life  and  Death  : 
No  need  for  her  to  bolster  up  herself 
With  worldly  politics,  or  power,  or  pelf. 
God's  Word  she  speaks :  and  those  who  hear,  receive 
By  God's  command — not  by  the  People's  leave 

True,  Rome  will  claim  the  self-same  gift  as  hers : 
And  sells  it,  damaged,  to  her  worshippers. 
True,  all  the  sects  urge  claims  as  loud  and  high : 
Then  straight  to  "  topics  of  the  day  "  they  fly. 
In  vain  with  boasts  both  veil  their  conscious  shames  ; 
Their  solid  deeds  belie  their  empty  claims. 
The  "  Kingdoms  of  this  world  "  they,  fierce,  desire, 
Loudly  renounce,  yet  clutch :  and,  for  such  hire, 
They,  like  the  dog  to  his  own  vomit  turned, 
Worship  that  Devil  whom  their  Saviour  spurned ; 


106  POLITICAL  PREACHING. 

Thus  proving  clearly  that  their  kingdom  is 
The  very  perfect  opposite  of  His  ! 

The  Church  alone  yet  keeps  her  garments  free 
From  all  entangling  with  the  powers  that  be. 
Her  creed  sublime  admits  no  postscript-power, 
From  monkish  dreams,  or  passions  of  the  hour. 
No  party  Shibboleths,  or  angry  isms, 
Spot  her  bright  robes  with  burs  of  sects  and  schisms. 
Oft  by  pretended  friends  is  she  enticed, — 
As  old  Herodians  catechized  the  Christ : — 
But  wise  from  Him,  the  difference  she  has  showed 
'Twixt  things  of  Caesar  and  the  things  of  God. 
She  knows  them  freemen,  whom  the  Truth  makes  free, 
While  all  are  slaves  beside :  and  therefore  she, 
Calm  in  her  dignity  of  royal  birth, 
Lets  potsherds  strive  with  potsherds  of  the  earth. 
The  Spouse  of  Christ,  she  wears  a  crown,  to-day, 
That  man  can  neither  give  nor  take  away. 
Sad,  yet  unmoved,  she  sees  her  foes  prefer 
This  poor  world's  noisy  strifes :  but  unto  her 
To  point  or  North  or  South  was  never  given ; — 
Enough,  'tis  hers  alone  to  point  from  earth  to  Heaven ! 

1856. 


€f)e  ^epop  iRebellion, 


From  the  Address  op  the  Carriers  op  The  Church  Journal, 
New  Year's  Day,  1858. 


Not  ours  the  woes,  where,  thick  with  earthly  stain, 
Ganges  rolls  slow  and  slower  through  the  plain, 
His  myriad  channels,  winding  as  they  go, 
Mingling  and  lengthening  in  their  mazy  flow. 
There  mingling  meet  impostures  old  and  new, 
The  crafty  Moslem  and  the  weak  Hindu. 
The  former,  keen  and  daring,  gained  his  hold 
With  ruthless  hand,  then  covered  blood  with  gold ; 
The  latter,  steeped  in  superstitions  foul, 
Hoary  with  old  iniquity, — where  scowl 
Such  huge  and  hideous  idols  as  alone 
Might  turn  their  countless  worshippers  to  stone ! 
What  wonder,  then,  that  England,  thither  drawn 
For  Commerce  only,  should  be  thence  led  on 
From  war  to  war,  from  goal  to  further  goal, 
Till  conquest  made  her  mistress  of  the  whole  ? 
And  ever  as  she  grew  from  realm  to  realm, 
Her  ship  of  State  saw  Mammon  at  the  helm, 
Who,  as  he  steered,  still  kept,  for  paltry  pelf, 
Her  better,  subject  to  her  baser,  self. 


108  THE  SEPOY  REBELLION, 

In  vain  a  saintly  Heber  prayed,  and  strove, 
And  died,  to  spread  the  knowledge  of  Christ's  love: 
The  worth  of  souls  in-gathered  to  His  flock, 
Was  naught,  compared  with  that  of  India  stock. 
Planted  in  heathendom,  proud  England's  sway 
Cost  money,  and  it  must  be  made  to  "  pay." 

But  when  God  has  His  own  great  ends  to  win, 
He  teaches  sinners,  even  through  their  sin. 
Those  who  possess  His  Truth,  must  bear  it  on, 
Or  else  its  dread  recoil  will  bear  them  down. 
Eager  for  wealth,  not  land,  yet  England's  fate 
Still  drove  her  onward  to  add  State  to  State. 
And  each  new  province  could  be  made  secure 
Only  by  further  conquest.     Thus  kept  poor 
By  wars  on  wars,  her  heathen  subjects,  too, — 
Conquered  but  not  converted, — also  grew. 
Millions  on  swarming  millions  soon  were  they; 
While  thousands  only,  those  whom  they  obey. 
And  these  are  studious  only  how  to  please 
Idolaters,  and  gather  in  rupees. 
Aye  !    English  rulers  pay  their  shameless  court 
To  idols ;  idol  temples  they  support ; 
And  Christian  soldiers,  with  the  pagan  throng, 
Must  bow  to  idols  as  they  pass  along ! 
Shasters  and  Vedas  are,  with  full  consent, 
Made  text-books  in  the  schools  of  Government. 
Pagan  Hindus  are  petted,  paid  and  feared: 
But  if  baptized,  they  are  at  once  cashiered  ! 
Bestowing  thus  her  mercenary  smile 
On  creeds  so  grossly  false,  corrupt  and  vile, 


THE  SEPOT  REBELLION.  109 

Only  contempt  or  hate  has  England  shown 
For  that  religion  which  she  calls  her  own. 
Yet  heathen  rites  although  she  thus  upheld, 
With  heathen  men  her  army's  ranks  she  swelled, 
Quite  sure  they  would  be,  in  her  hour  of  need, 
True  rather  to  their  salt  than  to  their  creed : 
Supposing  that,  of  course,  those  pagan  curs 
Would  sell  their  faith  as  cheap  as  she  did  hers. 

How  wild  the  waking  from  these  sordid  dreams  I 
As  the  volcano  bursts  with  fiery  streams, 
Pouring  red  ruin  down  from  rock  to  rock  : 
Thus  sudden  and  thus  deadly  was  the  shock. 
The  filth  preserved  with  so  much  cost  and  care, 
Leaped  like  the  hungry  tiger  from  his  lair. 
Fierce  to  the  work  the  rampant  passions  rushed, 
Lust  lapping  blood,  and  blood  inflaming  lust. 
Murders  most  foul  closed  tortures  most  obscene, 
With  brutal  rage,  more  like  to  fiends  than  men. 
Ev'n  woman, — in  whose  form  are  gathered  up 
The  chiefest  strength  and  sweetness  of  life's  cup,— 
Soul  of  man's  honor,— home  of  all  his  love, — 
The  crown  of  Christendom,— its  hope  above, — 
Through  whom  alone  Man  can  be  made  to  feel 
An  earthly  antepast  of  heaven  or  hell, — 
Woman— but  hush !     No  justice  can  be  done 
To  those  who  died  a  thousand  deaths  in  one ! 
Let  Havelock's  tenfold  thunderbolt  of  war 
Strike  on !     Let  Delhi's  fall  crash  loud  and  farl 
Let  Greathed's  column  shatter  as  it  goes, 
And  scatter  to  the  winds  its  miscreant  foes ! 


110  TEE  SEPOY  REBELLION. 

India's  dark  millions  shall  themselves  look  on, 
Behold  the  vengeance,  and  then  cry,  "  well  done ! " 
For  England,  be  her  errors  what  they  may, 
Has  wielded  there  a  just  and  healthful  sway  ; 
To  them  her  bloodiest  cruelty  is  known 
To  be  but  mercy,  seen  beside  their  own ! 

The  Faith  of  England,  by  this  deadly  strife 
Baptized  in  blood,  shall  glow  with  nobler  life. 
No  longer  shall  the  Cross,  so  dearly  bought, 
Be  veiled ;  nor  Christ  give  place  to  Juggernaut. 
Higher  and  higher  shall  the  Day-star  rise, 
Enlightening  with  his  beams  long-blinded  eyes ; 
Till  idols  all  shall  fall,  while  Saints  shall  sing, 
And  wise  men  from  the  East  again  shall  bring 
Their  gifts  to  Christ  the  Lord,  their  Prophet,  Priest 
and  King. 

1857. 


Cfee  ©penmg  of  tfje  OBast, 

AND  ARABS  AT  HOME. 


From  the  Address  op  the  Carriers  or  The  Church  Journal, 
New  Year's  Day,  1859. 


Far  in  the  East, — where  restless  Change  alone 
For  ages  reigned,  while  Progress  was  unknown,— 
Signs  now  appear  of  dim  yet  dawning  light, 
Threatening  the  realm  of  Chaos  and  old  Night. 
China  has  opened  wide  her  long-barred  gates, 
And  coy  Japan  no  longer  hesitates. 
Four  Christian  Powers,  with  fleets  and  armies  strong, 
Ended  the  long  debate  'twixt  right  and  wrong. 
In  vain  Celestials  would  their  forts  defend, 
With  countless  guns  and  soldiers  without  end: 
Guns  out  of  date,  and  soldiers  out  of  heart, 
Vainly  resist  the  weight  of  western  art. 
Where  skill  and  courage  are  not,  crowds  are  vain, 
And  numbers  only  swell  the  numbers  of  the  slain. 
Victorious  soon,  within  the  sacred  stream 
Wave  English  pennons,  and  French  sabres  gleam. 
Their  black  war-vessels,  leaving  on  the  air 
Long  trails  of  smoke-cloud,  far  and  farther  bear, 
Through  shifting  channel  and  o'er  shallow  bar. 
The  thundering  dread  of  European  war. 


112  THE  OPENING   OF  THE  EAST. 

With  fitful  shriek,  and  dull  continual  roar, 

That  startles  all  the  windings  of  the  shore, 

The  steamers  plough  their  way ;  until,  at  length, 

The  "  Son  of  Heaven  "  meets  their  resistless  strength, 

At  first,  by  diplomatic  sleight  of  hand : 

That  failing,  he  grants  all  that  they  demand. 

Nor  trade  alone  was  thought  of  in  that  hour, 

Nor  what  concerned  the  growth  of  earthly  power : 

But  that  old  Empire  gave  its  full  consent 

To  preach  Glad  Tidings  through  its  whole  extent; 

Not  in  the  seaports  only,  but  in  all 

Its  swarming  cities, — from  the  Northern  Wall 

To  Southern  Seas,  and  from  the  sea-coast  low 

To  Thibet's  mountains  white  with  constant  snow. 

The  murderous  storm  that  raged  on  India's  plain 
Has  spent  its  fury,  and  subsides  again, 
Though  the  hot  hate  that  hatched  it  into  life 
Still  keeps  alive  some  embers  of  the  strife. 
Through  Islam's  baleful  realms,  where'er  we  turn, 
The  subterranean  fires  break  out  and  burn. 
Witness  the  desperate  deeds  at  Gaza  done ; 
The  massacre  at  Djiddah,  where  scarce  one 
Escaped  to  tell  the  tale ;  and  Jaffa,  too, 
Jerusalem,  Damascus, — all  imbrue 
With  Christian  blood  the  hands  of  Arab  foes. 
Through  all  its  mountains  Anatolia  shows 
The  same  fanatic  zeal.     Yet  weaker  now 
And  weaker,  daily,  Islam's  forces  grow. 
Whilom  the  wild  Crusades,  with  deadly  loss, 
Brought  face  to  face  the  Crescent  and  the  Cross. 


THE   OPENING    OF  THE  EAST.  113 

The  Christian  chivalry,  wave  after  wave, 

Dashed  on  the  Paynim  power  to  find — a  grave : 

Then  back  recoiled  after  the  fatal  shock ; — 

Recoiled,  as  baffled  billows  leave  the  rock. 

Five  hundred  years  since  then  has  Europe  grown, 

Till  earth  now  holds  no  power  to  match  her  own : 

Five  hundred  years  have  seen  proud  Islam  fade, 

And  dwindle  to  the  shadow  of  a  shade. 

Its  few  remaining  zealots  feel  the  weight 

Of  Europe's  greatness  .crushing  them  like  Fate. 

They  gnash,  they  bite,  they  strike  in  blindest  ways, — 

Their  rage  increasing  as  their  strength  decays. 

Their  creed  is  doomed.    These  furious  blows  and  cries 

Are  but  its  last  fierce  outburst,  ere  it  breaks  and  dies. 

Great  are  its  gains  abroad,  yet  Christendom 
Has — did  she  know  it — work  enough  at  home. 
Only  that  work  at  home  it  is,  that  can 
Make  truly  strong  the  fallen  race  of  man. 
'Tis  one  by  one  that  polished  stones  and  square 
Rise  in  a  temple,  noble,  vast  and  fair. 
A  mighty  power  thus  Christian  nations  be : 
Freemen  alone  are  those  whom  Truth  makes  free. 
Not  to  the  plains  of  Syria  need  we  go, 
To  meet  and  conquer  hostile  Arabs.     No ! 
Where'er  he  goes,  our  bold  Crusader  meets 
Tribes  of  wild  Arabs  prowling  through  our  streets ; — 
Brutal  and  drunken,  filthy  with  the  slime 
Of  lust,  sharp,  thievish,  bloody,  black  with  crime, 
Cripples,  and  lepers  foul  with  running  sores, — 
The  spume  of  Europe  cast  upon  our  shores ! 


114:  THE   OPENING    OF  THE  EAST. 

These  be  our  foes, — to  clothe,  to  feed,  to  tend, 

To  teach,  to  bless,  to  rescue  and  defend ! 

These  be  our  conquests,  this  our  Cross  to  bear ! 

A  Cross,  not  only  on  the  breast  to  wear, — 

As  when  the  knights  and  squires  and  barons  bold 

Fought,  and  were  vanquished,  in  the  days  of  old : 

But  in  the  heart  abiding,  where  alone 

It  makes  the  power  of  Christ  Himself  its  own. 

Then,  with  our  spirit-sword,  and  watchword  "  Prayer," 

Here  be  our  Holy  Land ;  yea,  everywhere  ! 

Thus  shall  the  power  of  Christendom,  at  length, 

Rise  to  the  perfect  measure  of  its  strength ; 

And,  matchless  in  its  might  of  heavenly  birth, 

Spread  till  its  wondrous  glory  filleth  all  the  earth  I 

1858. 


LIKE   ALL   TRUE   SOULS. 


To 


Like  all  true  souls  of  noble  birth, 
Thou'rt  made  of  purest  porcelain  earth, 

And  not  of  common  clay ; 
Love,  Truth,  and  Mercy  made  the  mould 
That  did  thy  spirit's  form  enfold, 

Upon  its  natal  day. 

Upon  that  form,  with  wondrous  art, 
By  teeming  brain  and  tender  heart, 

Rare  flowers  have  painted  been ; 
And,  heedless  of  thy  streaming  tears, 
Affliction's  furnace,  hot  and  fierce, 

Has  burnt  the  colours  in. 

Thus  decked  with  tints  that  cannot  fade, 
"  A  vessel  unto  honour  "  made 

My  homely  verse  has  shown  thee ; 
To  it  all  thirsting  souls  may  come, 
And  all  the  lips  that  drink  therefrom 
Say :  "  Blessings  be  upon  thee  I" 
1848. 


Co  mp  Ctpr, 


Come  to  my  lips,  my  brown  cigar ! 

And  while,  in  circling  train, 
Thy  puffs  cerulean  slowly  curl 
Around  my  busy  brain, 
Bring  to  my  mind,  as  thou  hast  often  brought, 
Some  pensive  thought. 

With  careful  art  the  maker's  hand 
Hath  formed  and  fashioned  thee ; 
"Wrapper"  without,  "filler"  within, 
A  two-fold  unity : 
And  slowly,  like  an  old  gray-hooded  friar, 
On  creeps  thy  fire. 

Not  for  thyself  thy  balmy  leaves 

Were  thus  together  laid, 
Nor  was  the  glowing  coal  for  thee, 
But  thou  for  it  wast  made ; 
My  breath  still  draws  thy  silent  fire  aright, 
And  keeps  thee  bright. 

And  as  the  red  slow-moving  line 

Creeps  up  along  thy  side, 
Thy  ashes  sinking  down  to  earth 
Or  mingling  with  the  tide, 
Aloft  I  see  thy  pure  aroma  rise, 

To  seek  the  skies ! 


TO  MY  CIGAR.  117 

Yet  perish  not,  my  brown  cigar, 

Nor  end  in  smoke  alone, 
But  show  me,  in  thy  brief  career, 
An  image  of  my  own  : 
So  shall  thy  fragrant  memory  still  live  on 
When  thou  art  gone. 


With  wondrous  art  my  Maker's  hand 

Hath  formed  and  fashioned  me, 
Body  without,  and  soul  within, 
A  mystic  unity ; 
And  in  me  burns,  to  purge  each  gross  desire, 
A  holy  Fire. 


Not  for  my  earthly  self  was  I 

With  this  my  body  clad, 
Nor  was  that  holy  Flame  for  me, 
But  I  for  it  was  made. 
His  breath  still  draws  the  sacred  Fire,  His  light 
Still  keeps  it  bright. 

Lord  !  while  within  my  mortal  part 

Thy  heavenly  Fire  is  burning ; 
Ashes  to  ashes,  earth  to  earth, 
And  dust  to  dust  returning : 
Still  homeward  let  the  ethereal  spirit  rise, 

And  find  the  skies  ! 
1846. 


AS   STEALS    THE    BROOK. 


To  Mrs. 


As  steals  the  brook,  half  hidden  and  half  seen, 
Through  forest  dim,  deep  vale,  and  meadow  green, 
Nor  heeds  the  rise  and  fall  of  empires  great. 
Nor  seeks  the  city's  splendor,  pomp  and  state, 
So  it  can  make  to  grow  more  rich  and  rank 
The  flowers  and  trees  that  live  along  its  bank : 

Thus  flows  the  quiet  current  of  thy  life, 
Far  from  the  fields  of  war  and  worldly  strife, 
From  fashion's  follies  far,  and  public  fame : 
Yet  in  thy  home  thou  bearest  a  cherished  name, 
And  all  true  hearts  around  thee  love  to  bless 
The  unfailing  fountain  of  thy  kindliness. 

1850.  _____ 

FOR  THE  TOMBSTONE  OF  A  POOR  MAN. 


Scorn  not  the  mean  and  humble  guise, 

The  heart  thou  canst  not  see ; 
Lazarus  may  reach  Paradise 


1845. 


Long  before  thee  I 


SHADED    FLOWERS. 


At  mora  the  flowers  from  under  Night's  dull  pall 
Peep  laughing ;  their  reflecting  dew-drops  bear 
Bright  tiny  suns,  far  twinkling  through  the  air. 
But  some  I've  seen,  on  whom,  overshadowed  all 
By  an  old  tower,  no  ray  of  light  did  fall ; 
I  pitied  them — so  cheerless  sad  they  were. 
I  saw  those  smiling  flowers  in  noon's  hot  glare, 
Sun-struck,  and  faint ;  while  under  the  stern  wall, 
Fresh  as  at  morn  the  shaded  roses  grew, 
The  dew  yet  in  their  bosoms.     Thus  when  come 
Deep  sorrows  o'er  us,  why  should  we  upbraid  ! 
His  hand  o'ershadows  us.     The  friendly  shade 
Shuts  out  the  world's  bright  glare,  and  the  soft  dew 
Of  pure  religion  finds  the  soul  its  home. 

1841. 


TO   AN   OLD    HORSE. 


Thy  willing  master,  when  thy  years  were  young, 

Proud  of  thy  flying  feet  and  flowing  mane, 

Upon  thee  clomb  the  hills  or  scoured  the  plain, 

And  round  his  prancing  steed  rich  trappings  hung. 

Now  thou  art  old.    The  echoing  hills  that  rung 

To  thy  loud  neighings  now  are  still ;  the  rain 

Pelts  thy  unsheltered  head ;   nor  doth  remain 

One  friend  of  all  that  kindly  round  thee  clung. 

'Tis  thus  with  him  who  for  his  Master  takes 

The  hard  and  heartless  world.    When  young  and  strong, 

It  honors  him ;  when  old  and  gray,  forsakes. 

My  Master,  when  old  age  makes  dim  mine  eyes, 

Will  leave  me  dark  and  comfortless  not  long  : 

There  is  for  me  a  new  home — Paradise! 

1841. 


TO    A    SEA-SHELL. 


There  were,  far  in  thy  native  ocean  blue, 

Deep  grots,  all  sweet  sea-sounds  re-echoing ; 

Waves  up  the  long  smooth  beach  slow-travelling, 

With  solemn  fall  monotonously  drew 

Their  rolling  lengths  along.   Such  sounds  did  through 

Thy  sinuous  labyrinthine  chambers  ring ; 

And  unforgetting,  still  they  faintly  sing — 

After  long  years,  at  unknown  distance,  true — 

Their  old  accustomed  song.    Thus  the  old  heart 

Echoes  its  youth.     The  Bible-stories  from 

Our  mother's  lips,  who  taught  us  how  to  pray, 

Our  simple  hymns,  by  chance  remembered,  start 

Sometimes  ev'n  tears,  that  all  unbidden  come, 

To  think  those  innocent  hours  so  very  far  away  I 

1841. 


THE    TWIN  LIVE-OAKS  AT    BEVERLEY, 

NEAR  SAVANNAH. 


Aloft  in  grandeur  these  primeval  trees 

Heave  high  the  huge  mass  of  their  rounded  head ; 

Their  vast  boughs,  like  gigantic  arms  outspread, 

Stretch  o'er  the  herds  that  roam  the  sunburnt  leas 

Cool  shade.    These  are  the  true  autochthones, 

Who  stand  enrobed  in  changeless  drapery, 

And  slow,  with  weird  and  solemn  majesty, 

Wave  their  long  gray-beards  in  the  evening  breeze. 

A  mournful  beauty, — brother  of  decay ! 

Their  life-blood  this  fair  parasite  enjoys, 

And,  like  the  vampyre,  pleases  yet  destroys. 

'Tis  thus  the  gathering  frosts  of  winters  hoary 

Sap  the  full  current  of  our  strength  away ; 

Yet,  round  the  old  man's  head,  are  like  a  crown  of  glory. 

1845. 


INSANITY. 


Awful  the  mysteries  of  Reason  are, 

When  all  its  powers,  with  high  Religion  crowned, 

Harmoniously,  like  solemn  music,  sound. 

Its  loss  more  awful,  more  mysterious  far : 

Then,  in  the  glorious  concert,  grates  the  jar 

Of  horrid  discords.     Fiends  beleaguer  round 

The  citadels  of  thought  and  will.     Then  drowned, 

In  billows  of  black  cloud,  is  Faith's  bright  star ; 

Weird  phantoms  throng  round  in  the  dire  eclipse ; 

Unreal  deaths,  fires,  terrors  haunt  the  air ; 

Prayer  bounds  back  blighted ;  e'en  God's  Word  divine 

Lies,  when  re-echoed  from  the  Devil's  lips ! 

Fool !  boastest  thou  thy  reason  ?     Is  it  thine  ? 

Go  to  the  mad-house  cells;  learn  wisdom  there! 

1844. 


Co   mp   Classmates, 

Who  graduated  with  me  in  The  University  of  Vermont,  in 
the  tear  1839  :   written  for  the  class-meeting.  of  1866. 


Past  is  the  high  noon-day  and  henceforth,  steadily 

westward, 
Slowly  the  bending  sun  slopes   down  to  the  distant 

horizon. 
Crystal  streamlets  now  for  a  moment  flash  in  the  glory : 
Now  his  beams  on  the  hamlet  kindle  a  blaze  in  the 

windows. 
Cool,  deep  shadows  creep,  from  the  groves  on  the  crown 

of  the  hilltops, 
Downward  along  their  slanting  sides;   till,  broader  and 

broader, 
All  of  the  vale  is  dim  with  the  damp  dewy  gloom  of  the 

twilight. 
Weary  the  laborer  homeward  turns   from  toil  in  the 

meadows, — 
Turns  to  his  opening  door  whence  clattering  feet  of  the 

children 
Rush  to  a  shouting  welcome,  mingled  with  loud,  happy 

laughter. 
Twinkling  lights  from  the  casement  shine,  where,  frugal 

and  cheerful, 
Stands  his  loving  wife,  and  the  bright  flame  bums  on 

the  hearthstone. 
Sweetly  from  mountain  and  hill,  through  gathering  mists 

of  the  lowlands, 


\ 

TO  MY  CLASSMATES.  125 

Fainter  and  fainter  afar  re-echo  the  tinkling  sheep- 
bells. 

One  by  one,  like  stars  of  the  earth  going  out  into  dark- 
ness, 

Quench'd  are  the  village  lights:  while,  high  in  the 
deepening  azure, 

One  by  one,  shine  forth  heav'n's  stars  in  the  clearness 
eternal. 

Last,  in  her  full-orb'd  beauty,  the  moon  looks  down  on 
the  valley, 

Bathing  the  whole  wide  scene  in  midnight's  silvery 
silence. 


Classmates,  thus  have  we  now  passed  the  height  of  the 
noon-day, 

Henceforth  steadily  moving  on  toward  sunset  and  even- 
ing. 

Where  success  may  have  brought  full  floods,  they  flash 
in  a  splendor 

Bright,  though  brief;  and  the  stream  runs  cold  while 
blazing  in  sunshine : 

Not  for  itself,  but  for  eyes  far  off,  it  is  gilded  with 
glory. 

Shadows  gently  steal,  from  the  crowning  hilltop  of  man- 
hood, 

Downward  along  declining  years,  till,  broader  and 
broader, 

All  of  the  vale  of  life  is  dank  with  the  dew  of  the  twi- 
light. 


126  TO  MY  CLASSMATES. 

Weary  the  toiler  turns  from  the  field  of  his  lifelong 
labor, — 

Turns  to  his  resting-place,  to  the  one  dear  treasure  of 
home, — where 

Children's  voices  cheerily  ring,  and  the  wife  on  the 
hearthstone 

Kindles  the  fire  that  brightest  burns  when  daylight  is 
over. 

Out  from  the  gathering  mists  of  memory  sounds  may 
re-echo, — 

Dreams,  perchance,  or  wandering  strains  of  tenderer 
music, — 

Faintly  at  times  recalling  the  glorious  tones  of  the  morn- 
ing) 

Shepherds'  horns,  and  songs,  and  the  cliffs  on  the  sun- 
shiny mountains. 

One  by  one,  dim  candles  of  earth  go  out  into  darkness. 

One  by  one,  new  stars  of  heav'n  shine  out  in  the  azure. 

Last,  over  our  long  home  broods  only  the  silence  of  mid- 
night. 


Twofold,  Classmates  dear,  twofold  is  the  course  of  a 

lifetime. 
As  on  the  watery  plain  swift  wave  over  wave  moveth 

onward, 
Passing    in  contrary  ways,   yet  neither  impeding  the 

other : 
So  on  the  surface  of  life  great  circles  of  love  and  of 

friendship 


TO  MY  CLASSMATES.  127 

Clasp  and  embrace  many  souls,  filling  all  our  youthful 

horizon. 
Time  moves  on.    Death  takes  from  the  number.    Slowly 

and  sadly, 
Year  by  year,  that  wave  contracts;    till,  shrunk  to  a 

unit, 
Lost  in  a  point,  it  appears  no  more :    and  a  lifetime  is 

over! 
Yet  from  the  same   one   point,   that  unit   of  personal 

being, 
Outward  a  wave  flows  forth,  with  a  glad  and  a  glorious 

motion, 
Outward  the  wave  of  Knowledge  flows,  from  infancy 

onward, 
Out  through  childhood  and  manhood,  through  old  age, 

ever  onward : 
Knowledge  of  life,  love,  beauty  and  art,  and  science,  and 

wisdom, 
Knowledge  of  States  and  of  wars,  and  the  blood-stain'd 

tale  of  the  Ages, 
Knowledge  of  self,  and  of  sin,  of  struggle  and  earnest. 

endeavor, 
Knowledge  of  grace,  and  faith,  and  joy,  and  peace  in 

believing, 
Knowledge  of  God  and  of  man :   till  at  length,  grown 

wider  and  wider, 
There  where  sea  meets  sky,  Time's  wondrous  wavelet  is 

ended, 
Lost  in  Eternity's  Ocean  rolling  for  ever  and  ever. 
August  1,  1866. 


@>ong;& 


FALLING  LEAVES. 


How  fast  the  leaves,  all  brown  and  sere, 
Desert  the  old  and  hoary  year  ; 
And  wither'd  fall,  to  deck  no  more 
The  boughs  their  verdure  covered  o'er : 
At  length  the  snow,  in  shroud  of  white, 
Hides  them  for  ever  from  the  sight. 

Thus,  from  our  Tree  of  Life,  each  year, 
The  withered  leaves  shall  disappear  ; 
And,  on  the  wings  of  winter's  blast, 
Haste  from  the  Present  to  the  Past : 
At  length  the  shroud,  in  snowy  white, 
Hides  us  for  ever  from  the  sight. 

But  far  beyond  this  vale  of  tears 
Another  Tree  of  Life  appears ; 
Its  verdure,  in  those  realms  of  day, 
Shall  never  fall,  nor  fade  away : 
And  God  shall  clothe  in  robes  of  snow, 
The  blessed  souls  that  thither  go. 

1840. 


soyas.  129 

THE   LITTLE   DOVES. 


High  on  the  top  of  an  old  pine  tree, 

Broods  a  mother  dove  with  her  young  ones  three ; 

Warm  over  them  is  her  soft  downy  breast, 

And  they  sing  so  sweetly  in  their  nest: 

"  Coo,"  say  the  little  ones,  "  Coo,"  says  she, 

All  in  their  nest  in  the  old  pine  tree. 

Soundly  they  sleep  through  the  moonshiny  night, 
Each  young  one  cover'd  and  tuck'd  in  tight ; 
Morn  wakes  them  up  with  the  first  blush  of  light, 
And  they  sing  to  each  other  with  all  their  might, — 
"  Coo,"  say  the  little  ones,  "  Coo,"  says  she, 
All  in  their  nest  in  the  old  pine  tree. 

When  in  the  nest  they  are  all  left  alone, 

While  their  mother  far  for  their  dinner  has  flown, 

Quiet  and  gentle  they  all  remain, 

Till  their  mother  they  see  come  home  again : 

Then  "  Coo,"  say  the  little  ones,  "  Coo,"  says  she, 

All  in  their  nest  in  the  old  pine  tree. 

When  they  are  fed  by  their  tender  mother, 
One  never  will  push  nor  crowd  another; 
Each  opens  widely  his  own  little  bill, 
And  he  patiently  waits,  and  gets  his  fill  : 
Then  u  Coo,"  say  the  little  ones,  "  Coo,"  says  she, 
All  in  their  nest  in  the  old  pine  tree. 


130  SONGS. 

Wisely  the  mother  begins,  by  and  by, 

To  make  her  young  ones  learn  to  fly  ; 

Just  for  a  little  way  over  the  brink, 

Then  back  to  the  nest  as  quick  as  wink : 

And  "  Coo,"  say  the  little  ones,  "  Coo,"  says  she, 

All  in  their  nest  in  the  old  pine  tree. 

Fast  grow  the  young  ones,  day  and  night, 
Till  their  wings  are  plumed  for  a  longer  flight ; 
Till  unto  them  at  the  last  draws  nigh 
The  time  when  they  all  must  say  good  bye : 
Then  "  Coo,"  say  the  little  ones,  "  Coo,"  says  she, 
And  away  they  fly  from  the  old  pine  tree  I 

1860. 


SPRING. 


Farewell  to  the  frost  and  the  snow  1 
The  streams  are  beginning  to  flow ; 
The  forest  is  ringing, 
The  green  grass  is  springing, 
And  softly  the  warm  breezes  blow ; 
While  sweet-scented  flowers  again 
Are  blooming  on  hill,  dale  and  plain. 


SONGS.  131 

The  thrush,  on  the  evergreen  hill, 
Is  tuning  his  musical  trill ; 

And,  when  eve  is  falling, 

We  hear,  loudly  calling, 
The  note  of  the  wild  whippoorwill ; 
While  the  turtle,  far  down  in  the  grove, 
Is  cooing  all  day  to  his  love. 

The  Springtide  of  Life  may  thus  seem 

To  pass  in  a  Fairy-like  dream ; 
The  woods  are  resounding, 
The  young  blood  is  bounding, 

And  bright  flows  the  murmuring  stream 

Yet  childhood  can  never  prolong 

This  dream-land  of  flower  and  song ! 

While  mirth  then  and  music  abound, 
Oh  !  plant  thy  seed  deep  in  the  ground ! 

The  breezes  and  showers 

Shall  first  bring  thee  flowers, 
And  soon  the  ripe  fruit  shall  be  found ; 
Thus  shalt  thou  have  treasure  in  store, 
When  Springtide  and  Summer  are  o'er. 

1846. 


132  SONGS. 

THE    TWO    LIGHTS. 


God  hath  made  the  Moon,  whose  beam 
Shimmers  soft  o'er  hill  and  stream, 
Through  the  clouds  her  silent  gleam 

Cheers  our  lonely  way. 
She,  with  star-companions  bright, 
Silvers  all  the  hours  of  night, 
Then  fades  in  overwhelming  light, 

Lost  in  perfect  day. 

God  hath  made  the  glorious  Sun, 
Through  his  daily  course  to  run  ; 
From  the  dawn  till  day  is  done 

Brightly  shineth  he. 
When  his  circling  round  is  o'er, 
And  we  see  him  here  no  more, 
He  rises  on  a  brighter  shore, 

Far  beyond  the  sea. 

God  hath  sent  me  here  below, 
In  my  daily  life  to  show 
Constant  love  to  friend  and  foe, 

As  He  showed  for  me. 
When  we  here  have  closed  our  eyes, 
Sunk  where  death's  dark  ocean  lies, 
To  worlds  of  glory  may  we  rise, 

Lighted,  Lord,  by  Thee ! 

1840. 


SONGS.  133 

THE    BIRD-CAGE. 


I've  a  Bird-Cage,  one  of  the  very  best, 
With  a  perch  inside,  and  a  snug  warm  nest ; 
Now  which  of  the  feathered  tribe  shall  be 
The  one  to  fill  my  nest  for  me  ? 


The  Humming-bird  is  a  sparkling  sight, 
Like  a  diamond  flashing  in  sunshine  bright ; 
But  away  she  whirrs  with  a  murmuring  hum, 
While  her  glimmering,  gilded  throat  is  dumb. 


The  gay  Macaw  may  flaunt  her  plumes 

In  groves  of  India's  rich  perfumes ; 

But  what  are  her  tints  of  green  and  gold, 

With  a  voice  that  can  only  scream  and  scold  ? 

The  Bird-of-Paradise,  gleaming  bright 
As  if  dyed  in  the  rainbow's  liquid  light, 
Would  seem  to  us  mortals  half  divine, 
Were  her  song  as  sweet  as  her  feathers  are  fine. 


But  in  homely  russet  brown  the  Thrush 
Makes  music  from  the  hawthorn  bush; 
The  Lark,  that  "high  at  heaven's  gate  sings," 
Soars  aloft  at  morn  on  modest  wings ; 


134  SONGS. 

And  the  Nightingale — so  lovers  say — 
Though  clothed  in  dull  and  dusky  gray, 
Pours  forth  a  gushing  stream  of  song, 
And  trills  to  her  dear  love  all  night  long. 

Then  away  with  your  fluttering,  flaunting  things, 
With  their  glittering  charms  and  their  glancing  wings, 
And  give  me  a  mate  of  a  modest  hue, 
Whose  song  shall  warble  the  whole  night  through. 

A  right  warm  heart  shall  be  her  nest ; 
Her  perch  a  fond  and  faithful  breast ; 
Her  cage  two  loving  arms  shall  be : 
Who  then  would  sigh  for  liberty  ? 

1847. 


MOONLIGHT    ON    THE    KIVER. 


Before  us  the  River  is  flowing, 

In  the  soft  balmy  silence  of  Night, 
And  o'er  it  the  young  Moon  is  throwing 

The  beams  of  her  quivering  light. 
Now  in  shadow  the  waters  run  darkling, 

Where  the  hill  rises  high  o'er  the  plain ; 
But  soon  they  are  dancing  and  sparkling 

In  the  light  of  her  glory  again. 


SONGS.  135 

And  what  though  the  breezes  bring  o'er  her 

Deep  clouds  of  a  lowering  hue, 
That  spread  their  dark  curtain  before  her, 

And  hide  her  sweet  face  from  our  view  ? 
Oh !  ne'er  at  her  absence  repining, 

Though  shadows  and  gloom  may  abound, 
Behind  them  we  know  she  is  shining, 

By  the  silver  that  fringes  them  round. 

Our  River  of  Life  is  thus  flowing 

Through  a  world  overshadowed  with  night, 
And,  evermore  over  it  glowing, 

From  above  shines  a  soft  blessed  light. 
Though  sometimes  the  waters  run  darkling, 

While  a  shadow  rests  over  the  soul ; 
Soon  again  in  its  cheerfulness  sparkling, 

To  Eternity's  ocean  they  roll. 

And  what  tho'  our  Lord  should  bring  o'er  us 

The  deep  clouds  of  sorrow  and  woe, 
Should  hang  his  thick  curtain  before  us, 

And  onward  in  darkness  we  go  ? 
Oh  !   ne'er  at  our  trials  repining, 

Though  anguish  and  gloom  may  abound, 
Behind  them  we  know  He  is  shining, 

By  the  love-light  that  circles  them  round. 

1846. 


136  SONGS. 

THE    LULLABY   SERENADE. 


Zephyrs  are  whispering,  whispering,  whispering, 

Full  blushing  roses  all  hark  what  they  say ; 
Moonlight  is  glimmering,  glimmering,  glimmering, 

Rippling  and  quivering  bright  o'er  the  bay. 
Nightingales  carolling,  carolling,  carolling, 

Chaunting  and  warbling  afar  in  the  grove ; 
List  to  my  roundelay,  roundelay,  roundelay, 

Wake  and  come  forth  to  thy  love  I 


Sighing  and  lingering,  lingering,  lingering, 

Steal  the  soft  breezes  o'er  jessamine  bowers; 
Thence  blowing  balmily,  balmily,  balmily, 

Waft  all  the  dew-dropping  perfume  of  flowers. 
Blue  mountains  dreamily,  dreamily,  dreamily, 

Sleep  on  the  silvery  breast  of  the  sea ; 
While  I  am  longingly,  longingly,  longingly, 

Singing  and  waiting  for  thee ! 


Streams,  love,  are  murmuring,  murmuring,  murmuring ; 

Wake  ere  the  swift- winged  hours  take  their  flight ! 
Nature  is  calling  thee,  calling  thee,  calling  thee, 

Love  bids  thee  wake  to  the  music  of  night ! 
O'er  the  vale  heavily,  heavily,  heavily, 

Booms  the  dull  sound  of  the  deep  midnight  bell ; 
Hear  its  tones  echoing,  echoing,  echoing, 

Down  in  the  dark  shady  dell ! 


songs.  137 

Still  art  thou  slumbering,  slumbering,  slumbering  ? 

Hush'd  be  the  song  that  would  break  thy  repose ! 
May  it  a  lullaby,  lullaby,  lullaby, 

Breathe  o'er  thy  dream  like  the  breath  of  the  rose. 
Angels  watch  over  thee,  over  thee,  over  thee, 

Until  the  bright  Star  of  Love,  coming  on, 
Rising  up  rosily,  rosily,  rosily, 

Open  the  gate  of  the  dawn ! 

1847. 


THE   VILLAGE    GOOD    NIGHT. 


The  sun  hath  laid  him  down  to  rest, 

All  wrapp'd  in  robes  of  gold ; 
The  little  bird  hath  sought  his  nest, 
The  bleating  sheep  his  fold; — 
Kine  lowing 
While  going 
Along  the  homeward  trail, 
Where  merrily 
And  cheerily 
The  milkmaid  fills  her  pail. 
Now  from  afar  the  evening  star 

Peers  out  with  trembling  light, 
And  wild  and  shrill  the  whippoorwill 
Repeats  his  loud  "  Good  night  1" 
"  Good  night !" 


138  SONGS. 

Our  evening  hours  have  flown  along, 

And  glided  swift  away, 
With  music's  charm,  and  cheerful  song, 
And  converse  glad  and  gay. 
Thus  lightly 
And  brightly 
Our  tide  of  time  has  rolled ; 
While  laughter 
Rang  after 
Each  merry  tale  well  told. 
But  in  the  sky  the  Moon  rides  high, 

And,  from  the  belfry's  height, 
The  midnight  chime  now  tolls  the  time 
When  we  must  bid  u  Good  night." 
"Goodnight!" 

May  no  sad  thought,  nor  carking  care, 

Invade  your  tranquil  rest  ; 
Nor  nightmare  grim,  nor  goblin,  dare 
Tramp  o'er  your  slumbering  breast. 
Profoundly 
And  soundly 
May  Peace  your  eyelids  close ; 
Safe  keeping, 
While  sleeping, 
Your  heart  from  waking  woes. 
May  Angels  stand,  a  guardian  band, 

Around  you  calm  and  bright ; 
While  near  you  move,  in  dreams  of  love, 

Sweet  forms  that  breathe  "  Good  night  I" 
1849.  "Goodnight!" 


soxgs.  139 


LOVE    AND    OYSTERS. 


That  woman's  heart  is  a  priceless  pearl, 

We  all  of  us  know  very  well ; 
But  every  pearl  in  an  oyster  grows, 

While  the  oyster  is  cased  in  a  shell. 

And  many  a  man,  with  a  cunning  plan 

To  force  it  its  treasure  to  yield, 
Has  won  him  a  girl,  while  he  lost  the  pearl 

That  lay  in  her  bosom  concealed. 

Some  with  their  fingers  would  open  the  shell, 
As  if  that  were  the  natural  way ; 

Some  with  the  harsh  and  brutal  steel 
Would  torture  their  delicate  prey ; 

Others  are  told  that  a  wedge  of  gold 
At  length  will  be  sure  to  prevail : 

But  I  have  a  plan — and  beat  it  who  can — 
That  never  was  known  to  fail. 

Oh  place  this  wondrous  shell  on  the  fire 

Of  true-born  Love, — and  lo  ! 
'T  will  open  its  valves  of  its  own  accord, 

As  soon  as  it  feels  the  glow. 

Then  the  oyster,  as  well  as  the  oyster-shell, 
The  steel  and  the  gold  may  claim ; 

But  the  Pearl  shall  rest  on  the  burning  breast 
That  kindles  the  magical  flame ! 

1847. 


140  SONGS. 

SUNSHINE   AND    SHADOW. 


In  the  sunshine  glancing, 
Ocean  waves  are  dancing, 
Heaven  above  is  calm  and  bright, 
And  earth  is  gay  with  cheering  light. 
Clouds  aloft  are  sailing, 
See  the  sunlight  failing ! 
Where  the  rippling  radiance  played, 
Now  glooms  the  sad  and  sombre  shade. 
Soon  the  clouds,  retreating 
From  the  sun's  warm  greeting, 
Leave  the  Ocean*s  balmy  isles 
All  dimpled  round  with  beaming  smiles. 

Cheering  in  their  lightness, 
Sparkling  in  their  brightness, 
Joyous  eyes,  like  thine,  impart 
The  sunlight  of  a  loving  heart. 
Yet  the  shades,  oft  stealing 
From  the  fount  of  feeling, 
O'er  thy  brow  their  gloom  diffuse, 
And  dim  thine  eye  with  gathering  dews. 
Dash  away  thy  tears,  Love ! 
Peace  to  all  thy  fears,  Love ! 
Be  the  sunshine  on  my  sea, 
And  smile  for  evermore  on  me ! 


1849. 


SONGS.  141 


AT   DAWN    OF    DAY. 


At  dawn  of  day 
I  kneel,  and  clasp  my  hands,  and  strive  to  pray : 
But  all  in  vain,  dear  Love,  I  bend  the  knee, — 
I  can  but  think  of  thee ! 

The  Chapel  bell 
Wakes  the  loud  chaunt  and  organ's  rolling  swell : 
Yet  while  my  lips  in  cold  responses  move, — 
My  heart  burns  with  thy  love ! 

At  still  midnight, 
Once  more  the  soul  attempts  her  heavenward  flight: 
But  God  hath  fled,  nor  hears  the  empty  prayer, — 
For  thou  alone  art  there ! 

Help  me,  dear  Love ! 
And  when  from  God  my  wandering  thoughts  will  rove, 
And  fondly  cling  and  cluster  all  round  thee, — 
Pray  thou,  with  tears,  for  me  1 

1847. 


142  songs. 


THE  WIND-HAKP. 


When  o'er  the  pensive  wind-harp's  strings 

The  Zephyr's  sighing  breath  is  blown, 
Afar  the  trembling  warbler  flings 
Before  the  breeze  its  swelling  tone. 
Yet  soon  ad  own  the  vale 
The  fainting  murmurs  fail ; 
No  vocal  echoes  to  each  other  call, 
And  silence  reigns  where  rang  the  "  dying  fall." 

But  when  beneath  the  nobler  sweep 

Of  Friendship's  hand  the  heart-strings  move, 
Or  when  they  breathe  a  strain  more  deep, 
Brushed  by  the  thrilling  wings  of  Love ; 
Though  months  and  years  roll  by, 
Those  tones  can  never  die : 
Placed  on  the  heart,  the  ear,  whene'er  it  will, 
Around  its  chambers  hears  them  echoing  still. 

Yet  holier  strains  eternal  roll 

Along  this  vale  of  sighs  and  tears, 
When  Love  Divine,  within  the  soul, 
Strikes  chords  that  sound  through  endless  years : 
For,  on  the  heavenward  side 
Of  Death's  dark,  silent  tide, 
Those  tones  shall  leap  along  the  echoing  shore, 
And  ring  through  crystal  spheres  for  evermore ! 
1845. 


SONGS.  143 

WAIT    GOD'S    TIME,    LOVE. 


Wait  God's  time,  Love, 
Wait  Our  Father's  time ! 

Lovingly,  patiently, 
Wait  God's  time ! 

Clusters  green  are  on  the  bough  ; 

Canst  thou  make  them  ripen  now  t 

Spring  must  pass,  and  Summer,  too, 

Bring  its  rain,  sunshine  and  dew ; 

And  even  Autumn's  mellowing  frost 
May  gently  come, 

Before  the  vintage-gatherers,  Love, 
Sing  M  harvest  home !" 


Wait  God's  time,  Love, 
Wait  Our  Father's  time ! 
Watchfully,  prayerfully, 

Wait  God's  time ! 
Let  not  Passion's  stormy  air 
Strip  the  bending  branches  bare ; 
Nor  the  gnawing  worm  of  Sin 
Sow  the  seeds  of  death  within  : 
But  oft  enrich  thy  swelling  hope 
With  prayers  and  tears ; 
And  suns  will  shine  till  surely,  Love, 
RijDe  fruit  appears ! 


144  SONGS. 

Wait  God's  time,  Love ! 
Wait  Our  Father's  time ! 
Hopefully,  cheerfully, 
Wait  God's  time ! 
What  though  budding  Spring  be  gone, 
Though  the  Summer  hours  be  flown ; — 
What  though  frosty  Autumn  ope 
On  our  ripening  fruits  of  Hope, 
Before  they  fall,  and  we  may  sing 

Our  harvest-song : — 
They'll  only  taste  the  sweeter,  Love, 
11  winter  long ! 
1849. 


WEEP    ON. 


Weep  on,  weep  on ! 
Thy  bleeding  heart  is  wrung  with  bitter  woe. 

Weep  on,  weep  on ! 
I  would  not  dry  thy  tears :  yet  let  them  flow, 
Not  like  wild  torrents  plunging  from  the  hill, 

That  rage  the  valleys  through ; 
But  gently  from  thy  clouded  eyes  distil, 
Like  Heaven-bom  dew. 

Weep  on,  weep  on ! 
Here  for  thy  bleeding  heart  there  is  no  balm. 

Weep  on,  weep  on ! 
The  storm  must  pass  ere  broods  the  blessed  calm. 


SONGS.  145 

Behold !  even  now  the  light  of  Heaven,  long  hid, 

Through  breaking  clouds  appears, 
And  Hope's  bright  bow  leaps  up,  and  smiles  amid 

Thy  falling  tears ! 

1848. 


VANITY. 


Alone,  alone, 
Though  bright  eyes  around  me  glance, 
And  to  music's  ringing  tone 

Moves  on  the  merry  dance ! 
To  the  breeze  no  harp  hath  spoken, 
When  its  sounding  strings  are  broken. 
What  is  this  moving  scene  to  me 
But  vanity, — 
All  vanity  ? 

Alone,  alone, 
Like  a  dreamer  in  his  dream : 
Round  him  bannered  hosts  move  on, 

Plumes  wave,  and  falchions  gleam ! 
Yet  the  dreamer  lieth  lonely, 
For  that  gallant  throng  are  only 
The  airy,  empty  pageantry 
Of  vanity, — 
All  vanity ! 


146  songs. 

Alone,  alone, 
So  shall  every  soul  appear, 
When  the  dreams  of  earth  are  gone, 

And  dawning  Day  is  near. 
Then  the  soul,  in  slumber  seeming, 
Shall  awake  from  its  long  dreaming ; 
And  this  bewitching  world  shall  be 
But  vanity, — 
All  vanity  1 
1847. 


THE    SILENT    RIVER. 


Thbough  the  flowering  meadows, 
Through  the  forest  shadows, 
Through  a  land  where,  all  day  long, 
Resounds  the  voice  of  mirth  and  song,- 
Flows  a  Silent  River, 
Rolling  on  for  ever ; 
Clouds  of  woe  and  wailing  rest 
Dark  lowering  o'er  its  livid  breast. 
Earthly  sons  and  daughters, 
Whelmed  within  its  waters, 
Swept  away,  are  seen  no  more 
To  roam  along  the  smiling  shore. 


SONGS.  147 

'Mid  the  crowd  surrounding, 
'Mid  the  mirth  resounding, 
Mourners  here  move  to  and  fro 
In  anguish  round  its  silent  flow. 
Soon,  forlorn  and  weary, 
By  its  borders  dreary, 
Those  I  love  so  tenderly 
Shall  wander  weeping  all  for  me ; — 
Mortal  eyes  ne'er  finding, 
Through  the  tears  so  blinding, 
Angel  forms  in  misty  shroud 
That  dwell  amid  the  gloomy  cloud. 

Borne  in  endless  motion 
Towards  the  distant  Ocean, 
There  the  hearts  now  torn  in  twain 
Shall  meet  and  melt  in  love  again. 
There  the  mists  shall  o'er  us 
Rise,  an  Angel-chorus, 
O'er  the  wave  new  glory  fling, 
And  float  aloft  on  golden  wing. 
There  in  sunshine  glowing, 
And  to  music  flowing, 
All  the  billows,  flashing  bright, 
Shall  clap  their  hands  in  living  light ! 

1848. 


148  SONGS. 

DOWN  THE  WOOD-PATH. 


Down  the  wood-path  winding  slow, 
When  the  sun  was  sinking  low, 

Walked  we  two  together. 
Leaves  that  once  were  summer's  pride 
Fluttering  fell  on  every  side, 

In  the  Autumn  weather ; — 
Crimson,  purple,  brown  and  gold, 
On  the  pathway,  dead  and  cold, 
Fell  as  fast  as  they  could  fall : 
Under  foot  we  trode  them  all, 

As  we  walked  together. 

Down  the  wood-path,  winding  slow, 
When  the  sun  was  sinking  low, 

Walked  we  two  together. 
Hopes  that  once  had  kissed  the  sky, 
All  were  fluttering  down,  to  die 

In  the  Autumn  weather. 
Thine  were  falling,  too,  as  fast ; 
Yet  we  chatted  as  we  passed : 
Not  one  heart-word  either  said, 
Of  the  dreams  thus  dry  and  dead, 

As  we  walked  together. 

Sunlight  dimly  died  away ; 
Changed  the  stream  from  gold  to  gray, 
As  we  walked  together. 


SOiXGS.  149 


Twilight  fell,  in  cloud  and  chill, 
Ere  we  clornb  the  open  hill, 

In  the  Autumn  weather. 
Gone  is  Summer's  glorious  blaze ; 
Gone  the  sober  Autumn  days; 
Dreary  Winter  now  is  nigh : 
And  for  ever  thou  and  I 

Walk  no  more  together. 


1866. 


THE    GOLDEN    THKEAD. 


Thkough  the  long  and  listless  hours, 

In  this  weary  world  of  ours, 

Woulds't  thou  learn  a  charm,  whose  might 

Changes  darkness  into  light  ? 

Thousand  thrilling  tongues  can  tell, 

In  one  word,  that  wondrous  spell 

Whose  power  can  all  the  wide  world  move, 

And  that  one  magic  word  is  uLove  !" 
Like  a  golden  thread,  if  love 
Through  the  web  of  life  be  wove, 
'Twill  alway  shine  with  cheering  light, 
In  the  sun  by  day  or  the  moon  by  night, — 
'Twill  alway  gleam  with  golden  light. 


150  SONGS. 

Hast  thou  sought  the  world  around, 
Vainly  sought,  and  never  found 
That  one  heart,  wherein  alone 
Thou  may'st  lose,  to  find,  thine  own  ? 
Close  thou  not  the  fount  of  bliss  I 
Look  for  lesser  loves  than  this : 
If  no  great  sum  thou'rt  bound  to  pay, 
Thou  hast  the  more  to  give  away. 
Like  a  golden  thread,  etc. 

When  the  web  of  life  is  worn, 
Old  and  fretted,  frayed  and  torn, — 
When  'tis  fit,  the  world  would  say, 
Only  to  be  thrown  away : 
Till  the  parting  hour  be  past, 
Brightly  shining  to  the  last, 
The  latest  shred  to  lose  its  hold 
Will  be  that  gleaming  thread  of  gold. 
Like  a  golden  thread,  etc. 

Reaching  onward  o'er  the  tomb, 
Beaming  cheerly  through  its  gloom, 
'Tis  the  hallowed  thread  of  love 
Leads  thee  to  the  world  above. 
There  that  thread,  so  bright  and  true, 
Angel  fingers  weave  anew ; 
And  round  thy  loving  brow  'tis  rolled, 
A  shining,  glowing  crown  of  gold ! 
Like  a  golden  thread,  etc. 

1847. 


SONGS.  151 


THE    LEPER. 


Alone  in  Jordan's  plain, 
With  head  all  bare  to  sun  and  rain, 
A  Leper  roamed,  with  garments  rent, 
And  dreary  voice  still  crying  as  he  went : 

"Unclean!  Unclean!  Unclean!" 

But  Jesus  passed  by, 
And  as  His  blessed  feet  drew  nigh, 
He  listened  while  the  suppliant  prayed, 
Then  kindly  to  that  dying  soul  He  said  : 

"Be  clean!  Be  clean!  Be  clean!" 


By  sin  thus  tainted  sore, 
I  roam  Earth's  barren  desert  o'er; 
My  head  is  bare  to  storms  of  woe, 
My  wailing  voice  still  crying  as  I  go : 

"Unclean!  Unclean!  Unclean!" 

O  Thou  who,  on  the  Tree 
Of  agony,  once  died  for  me, 
With  pitying  mercy  hear  my  cry, 
And  kindly  to  my  guilty  soul  reply : 

"  Be  clean !  Be  clean !  Be  clean !" 

1845. 


152  SONGS. 

GOLDEN   WEDDING   SONG. 


Fifty  years  ago  not  one 

Of  us  as  yet  had  seen  the  sun; 

Now  'tis  sweet  to  meet  and  greet 

The  Pair  from  whom  we  all  have  sprung ! 
Round  the  dear  old  heads  all  hoary, 
Now  we  see  the  crown  of  glory, 
Now  to  others  tell  the  story 

Of  their  life  when  love  was  young. 

Thus  this  Golden  Wedding  call 

Finds  great  and  small,  and  one  and  all, 
At  Home,  Father  !  Home,  Mother  ! 
All,  all,  at  Home  ! 


In  the  Vale  of  Ligonier 

The  first  love-blossom  did  appear; 

Pittsburgh  smoke  and  fair  Killbuck 

Beheld  our  growing  company : 
Cambridge  next,  in  briefest  measure ; 
Then  Vermont,  whose  scenes  of  pleasure, 
Mountains  Green  and  Lake  of  azure, 

Close  us  round  right  royally. 

Here  this  Golden  Wedding  call 

Finds  great  and  small,  and  one  and  all, 
At  Home,  Father  !  Home,  Mother  1 
All,  all,  at  Home  ! 


SONGS.  153 

All  we  children  gathered  here 
Have  drawn  the  life  of  Parents  dear, — 
Toils,  and  cares,  and  tears,  and  prayers, 
Till  their  unceasing  task  was  done. 

Cares  but  drew  their  love-knot  tighter ; 

Toils  but  wore  their  love-chain  brighter; 

Love  made  every  burden  lighter 
As  the  tide  of  Time  rolled  on. 
Now  this  Golden  Wedding  call 
Finds  great  and  small,  and  one  and  all, 
At  Home,  Father  !  Home,  Mother  1 
All,  all,  at  Home  ! 


Not  all  here !     Some,  far  away, 
Yet  join  in  heart  with  us  to-day ; 
Others  four  are  on  that  Shore 
Where  parting  shall  no  more  be  known. 
There,  with  all  thus  gone  before  us, 
Clustering  round  The  Twain  that  bore  us, 
There  alone  our  perfect  chorus 

Shall  resound  before  the  Throne ; — 
There  the  Lamb's  high  Marriage-Call 
Find  great  and  small,  and  one  and  all, 
At  Home,  Father  !  Home,  Mother  1 
All,  all,  at  Home! 

1866. 


154  SONGS. 

UNION    SONG. 


Gloeious  land  of  Union  and  Freedom, 

One  in  thy  noble  story, — 
One  bright  whole,  of  many  united, 

Filling  the  world  with  glory, — 
Earth  and  Sky  and  River  and  Ocean 

Teach  thee,  in  their  marvellous  lore : 
Union  now,  and  Union  for  ever, — 

Now,  and  for  evermore ! 

North  to  South  the  towering  Mountains 

Run,  in  their  banded  ranges ; 
Giant  arms  of  granite  eternal 

Clasp,  and  defy  all  changes. 
From  their  peaks  the  gathering  chorus 

Bounds,  from  shore  to  echoing  shore : 
Union  now,  and  Union  for  ever, — 

Now,  and  for  evermore ! 

North  to  South  the  Rivers  of  waters, 

Lighting  the  land,  are  going, 
Thousand  broad  and  bountiful  valleys 

Laugh  where  the  streams  are  flowing. 
Sings  each  rill  that  swelleth  their  volume, 

Sings  each  sail  that  ever  they  bore : 
Union  now,  and  Union  for  ever, — 

Now,  and  for  evermore ! 


soxgs.  155 

Ocean  blue  in  majesty  rolling, 

Showeth  a  mightier  token, — 
Countless  in  his  myriad  billows, 

One  in  his  depth  unbroken. 
Every  calm  reflects  in  its  beauty, 

Every  storm  repeats  in  its  roar : 
Union  now,  and  Union  for  ever, — 

Now,  and  for  evermore  ! 

Shades  of  "Warrior-Statesmen  and  Heroes, 

Banners  of  Union  bearing, — 
Camp  and  council,  battle  and  triumph, 

Brother  with  brother  sharing, — 
From  the  clouds  your  voices  are  calling, 

Calling  loudly,  o'er  and  o'er : 
Union  now,  and  Union  for  ever, — 

Now,  and  for  evermore  ! 

Glorious  land  of  Union  and  Freedom, 

Rocked  in  the  lap  of  Ocean, 
"Woven  in  one  by  River  and  Mountain, 

One  in  thy  sons'  devotion  ; 
False  the  heart  that  faileth  to  love  thee, 

Traitor  he  that  singeth  no  more : 
Union  now,  and  Union  for  ever, — 

Now,  and  for  evermore  1 
1861. 


J£pmn  on  t&e  Passion* 


INTRODUCTION. 

This  is  the  time  when  from  its  winter  long 

The  slumbering  world  awakes  to  living  mirth, 
And  green  reviving  groves  resound  with  song. 
The  seed  that  died,  new-quickened,  springs  from 

earth 
In  all  the  glories  of  a  second  birth ; 
Its  opening  buds  their  fresh-born  fragrance  shed, 
And  universal  Nature  rises  from  the  dead. 

Thus  ever  since  the  birth-day  of  the  world, 
When  Time  his  onward-rushing  life  began, 

When  God  the  stars  into  their  orbits  hurled, 
Set  this  ball  rolling  round  the  central  sun, 
And  bade  the  annual  race  of  seasons  run, — 

Emblem  of  that  Great  Day  hath  Spring-time  come, 
When  rising  Saints  shall  burst  the  cerements  of  the  tomb. 

And  shall  each  little  bird  that  spreads  the  wing 

Trill  forth  new  carols  to  his  Maker's  praise, 
And  thou,  my  soul,  no  new  memorial  bring? 
Tune  high  thy  rambling  harp  to  solemn  lays ; 
And  sing,  with  sorrowing  awe  and  deep  amaze, 
That  mournful  time  when,  from  the  wounds  of  God, 
Down  the  rich,  dear-bought  streams  of  thy  Redemption 
flowed. 


HYMN  ON  THE  PASSION.  157 

And,  after  death,  tell  how  He  visited 
Those  antient  ghosts  that  lay  in  durance  dire, 

For  ever  dying  and  yet  never  dead ; — 
How  He  unpeopled  the  dense  realms  of  fire. 
And  rose  to  glory  with  a  new-born  quire. 

Touch  not  the  theme,  my  soul,  with  prayerless  tongue, 
Nor  be  thy  Saviour's  pangs  with  voice  unhallowed  sung ! 


HYMN. 


It  was  a  glorious  day 
When,  on  the  winding  way 
That  led  to  Salem's  towers  and  temple  high, 
From  the  assembled  throng 
Loud  burst  the  choral  song : 
"  Hosanna  in  the  highest !"  rang  the  cry ; 
While  shouting  thousands  lined  the  road, 
And  boughs  of  palm  before  triumphant  Jesus  strowed. 


'Tis  morning ;  and  agen 
The  mighty  crowds  of  men 
Tread  Salem's  courts  and  throng  her  portals  high  ; 
Their  many-voiced  roar 
Swells  louder  than  before, 
But  "  Crucify  Him  !"  is  the  savage  cry. 
That  clinging  curse  the  welkin  tore  : 
His  blood  be  on  us  and  our  children  evermore !" 


158  HYMN  ON  THE  PASSION 

They  bound  the  crown  of  thorn 
Over  His  brow  in  scorn ; 
Then  round  Him  flung,  in  royal  mockery, 
The  purple  robe  of  pride, 
And  loud  before  Him  cried : 
"  Behold  the  King  of  Israel !     Bow  the  knee  I" 
Stung  at  the  sight  Iscariot  flies, — 
Hell  smoldering  in  his  heart,  and  glowering  from  his 


In  vain  false  Pilate  stands : 
No  washing  of  the  hands 
Clears  from  the  heart  the  tinct  of  innocent  blood ! 
The  crowd,  with  cruel  care, 
Load  His  shoulders  bare, 
Like  Isaac's,  with  the  sacrificial  wood ; 
And  the  red  lash,  with  many  a  blow, 
Scourges  His  moaning  steps  along  the  road  of  woe. 


Thorough  the  city  doors 
The  raging  tumult  pours, 
And  up  the  steep  of  Calvary  they  wind. 
Golgotha !  on  thee 
They  plant  the  accursed  tree  ; 
No  pity  can  the  God  of  pity  find ! 
Pierced  were  the  hands  that  gave  them  bread, 
And  fast  the  beauteous  feet  that  brought  good  tidings 
bled. 


HYMN  ON  THE  PASSION.  159 

Scarce  in  His  bands  and  feet 
The  iron  sharp  was  set, 
And  quivering  agony  convulsed  His  frame, 
When  from  earth,  hell,  and  sky, — 
Flushed  with  his  victory, — 
Proud  Satan  summoned  all  his  Peers.     They  came ; 
And,  shrouded  in  black  clouds  of  spite, 
Grimed  the  cerulean  with  opake,  untimely  night. 


His  course  but  half  outrun, 
Gladly  the  blood-red  sun 
Was  from  the  woe-o'erwhelmed  world  shut  out. 
Burdened  with  terror  wan, 
The  staggering  earth  rolled  on, 
Wrapped  in  eclipses  dire ;  while,  with  hoarse  shout, 
Thronging  mid-air  in  dusky  crowds, 
Fiends'  fiery  shapes,  like  lightning,  glared  athwart  the 
clouds. 


Shrunk  by  the  strange  portent, 
The  Temple-veil  is  rent ; 
The  shaken  tombs  give  up  the  dead  they  hold ; 
Old  seers,  in  earth  long  housed, 
Now  from  their  slumbers  roused, 
See  the  dread  things  they  prophesied  of  old ; 
And,  hurrying  by  on  soundless  feet, 
Their  ghosts  in  grave-clothes  glide  along  the  gloomy 
street. 


160  HYMN  ON  THE  PASSION. 

Far  off,  yet  gazing  there, 
Stands,  whelmed  in  dumb  despair, 
The  Virgin  Mother  with  a  weeping  train ; 
The  sword,  with  keenest  smart, 
Is  passing  through  her  heart ! 
"  'Tis  finished !"  The  great  Sacrifice  is  slain. 
The  Roman  hears  His  dying  cries, 
And  "  Of  a  truth  this  was  the  Son  of  God,"  replies. 


Along  the  downward  road 
The  meek  Messiah  trode, 
'Mid  shivering  ghosts  that  thronged  the  highway 
wide. 
Far  belching  lurid  light 
Through  Chaos  and  old  Night, 
Looms  the  red  gulph,  whose  rolling  smoke-clouds 
ride 
High  o'er  the  dome, — a  pall  of  sable 
Which  smothers  up  the  noises  of  the  huge  Hell-Babel. 


There  in  that  torrid  clime, 
From  what  primeval  time 
Old  Noah  filled  the  world-inclosing  Ark, 
The  antique  giants,  hurled 
From  that  young-wanton  world, 
Had  groaned  in  subterranean  prison  dark ; — 
Hell's  grandest  harvest-home  of  woe, 
When  doubled  floods  above  peopled  the  fires  below. 


HYMN  ON  THE  PASSION.  161 

The  barking  whelps  cf  Sin 
Cease  their  Cerberean  din 
In  sullen  hush  profound  at  His  appearing ; 
And  round,  with  eager  awe 
While  countless  thousands  draw, 
From  burning  marl  their  forms  forlorn  uprearing, 
The  great  Immanuel,  God  and  Man, 
Proclaims  to   souls  long  lost  Redemption's  wondrous 
plan. 


Hoarse  oaths  and  curses  foul, 
The  horror-breeding  howl, 
The  crackling,  seething  hiss  of  quenchless  fires, 
Ceased.    The  seas  of  flame, 
Before  His  eye  grown  tame, 
Flickered  aslant  their  faint  retreating  spires ; 
And  softly,  o'er  the  dying  coals, 
Hope  sank,  like  gentle  rain,  into  their  thirsty  souls. 


Hushed  in  amazement  pale, 
The  spectres  heard  that  tale, 
From  Bethlehem's  manger  to  Mount  Calvary ; 
The  scourge,  the  smiting  scorn, 
The  galling  crown  of  thorn ; — 
But  more  than  all,  O  sad  Gethsemane. 
Thy  garden  agony,  where  God 
Wept  ages  of  old  guilt  away  with  drops  of  blood. 


162  HYMN  ON  THE  PASSION. 

His  hands  outstretching  wide, 
His  feet,  His  pierced  side, 
With  oozing  wounds  again  in  anguish  bled ; 
When  lo !  the  billowy  host, 
With  new  emotions  tost, 
Struck  to  the  heart,  hang  down  the  sorrowing  head ; 
Till  Love  dissolves  their  shuddering  fears 
In  sighs,  and  sobs,  and  prayers,  and  penitential  tears. 


Then  from  those  myriads  first, 
In  joyous  anthem,  burst 
The  long,  loud  alleluias'  solemn  swell. 
The  dismal  walls  around 
Unechoing  hear  the  sound, 
Such  concord  strange  strikes  dumb  the  caves  of 
hell: 
While,  startled  from  their  filthy  lair, 
Unnumbered  black  wings  whirr  athwart  the  reechy  air. 


Vain  is  their  old  control 
Over  the  doomed  soul ; 
Strong  trembling  terror  seized  the  fiends  obscene. 
Death  and  his  hideous  Dam 
Confessed  the  conquering  Lamb  ; 
At  whose  advance  in  majesty  serene, 
Confounded  both,  like  guilty  thieves, 
Slunk  writhing  from  the  unbarred  ports;   whose  pon- 
derous leaves, 


HYMN  ON  THE  PASSION.  163 

Obedient  to  His  tongue, 
On  their  harsh  hinges  swung ; 
And,  launching  o'er  the  gulf  whose  dreary  coasts 
Were  never  crossed  before, 
Nor  shall  be  evermore, 
The  God  triumphant  led  the  shouting  hosts : 
And  sudden,  sullen  silence  fell 
On  all  the  astounded  fires  and  hollow  vaults  of  Hell. 


Meanwhile,  in  dark  conclave, 
Exulting  Satan  gave 
The  various  history  of  his  late  campaign. 
His  Peers  attentive  hang 
Upon  the  proud  harangue, 
How,  baffled  for  long  years  in  strugglings  vain, 
At  last,  and  mocked  by  every  tongue, 
Nailed   to    the  slave's  vile    cross  their    Foe  expiring 
hung. 


11  The  babbling  seers  of  old 
11  In  vain  His  reign  foretold, 
u  And  our  defeat  to  swell  His  late  renown ! 
"  Our  host  shall  quail  no  more 
"Before  His  thunder's  roar," — 
At  thought  of  that  dread  day,  a  lowering  frown 
Ridged  all  his  brow,  black  with  the  brunt 
Of  thunderbolts  that  yet  scarred  deep  his  horrid  front. 


164  HYMN   ON  THE  PASSION, 

"  Can  helmed  Cherubim, 
11  Or  sworded  Seraphim, 
"  Angel  or  Archangel  withstand  your  might  ? 
"  Before  your  engines  dire, 
"  How  did  the  harping  quire 
"  Fly  howling  from  the  havoc  of  the  fight ! 
"  Hell  shall  be  theirs ;  while,  like  the  levin 
"Our  rushing  squadrons  storm  the  eternal  gates    of 
heaven !" 


"  To  arms !  To  arms  !"  they  cry, 
And  to  their  armory 
In  Pandemonium  the  swart  throng  repair ; 
Behind  their  rapid  flight 
They  drag  the  attendant  Night, 
Their  leathern  wings  flapping  the  dusky  air, — 
And,  through  the  dim  retreating  dun, 
To  the  wonder-wearied  world  let  in  the  evening  sun. 


But  see !    In  wild  amaze 
Strikes  their  astonied  gaze 
That  host  far-gleaming  o'er  the  deep  abyss; 
And,  caught  in  cadence  dim, 
They  hear  the  echoing  hymn 
In  triumph  wafted  from  the  realms  of  bliss : 
Lost  is  their  oldest,  dearest  prize, 
To  reinforce  the  dread  battalions  of  the  skies ! 


HYMN  ON  THE  PASSION.  165 

As  the  foul  Fiend9  approached, 
The  liquid  fires  were  broached 
That  He  had  staunched;   whom,  maddened  at  his 
doom, 

Satan  fierce  defies 
With  furious  blasphemies, 
While  howls  add  horror  to  the  lurid  gloom. 
Hoarse  to  the  shrill,  despairing  yell 
Resounded  drear,  deserted,  solitary  hell. 


But  now  the  morn  is  come 
To  ope  the  sealed  tomb, 
And,  earlier  than  the  faithful  feet  of  love, 
The  brightest  of  the  Seven 
That  stand  in  highest  heaven, 
With  radiant  wings  the  night-clad  azure  clove. 
With  splendor  all  his  raiment  shone; 
Earth   shook    the   while    he   rolled    away  the  mighty 
stone. 


Prostrate  on  the  ground, 
As  in  a  dreamy  swound, 
The  pagan  soldiery  pressed  the  trembling  sod. 
Lo !  sudden  gleams  illume 
The  spicy-breathing  tomb, 
And  forth,  like  rushing  morn,  rises  the  God  : 
Nor  lingering  long  in  Judah's  land, 
Soars  to  His  seraph-girdled  throne  at  God's  right-hand. 


166  HYMN   ON  THE  PASSION. 

Thus  when,  with  summons  dread, 
Startling  a  world  of  dead, 
The  rousing  Trump  of  Doom  shall  wake  the  deep, 
Following  Him  who  rose 
In  triumph  o'er  our  foes, 
The  just  shall  burst  the  bands  of  Death  and  Sleep  ; 
And  Death  shall  die, — to  rise  up  never, — 
And  Hell's  broad  gates  be  barred  for  ever  and  for  ever. 

1843. 


DREAM    OF 

Cfre  mift  of  Pontic  Pilate. 


"When  he  was  set  down  on  the  judgment-seat,  his  wife  sent  unto 
him  saying:  4  Have  thou  nothing  to  do  with  that  just  man,  for  I  have 
suffered  many  things  this  day  in  a  dream  because  of  him.1 " 

St.  Matthew. 


My  Loving  Lord  :  After  the  tidings  came 
Of  rife  sedition,  from  the  Sanhedrim, 
And  hasty  couriers  summoned  thee  away, 
At  early  dawn,  unto  the  judgment-seat, 
I  sank  again  into  a  troubled  sleep  ; 
When  midst  uneasy  tossings  to  and  fro, 
Visions  of  horror  inconceivable, 
And  dire  portent  to  thee  I  saw,  which  shook 
My  inmost  soul  with  fears  unknown  before. 

Methought  that  we  for  ages  both  had  lain 
Inurned  within  the  shady  grove  that  skirts 
Our  favorite  villa  near  Proeneste,  when 
Sudden  we  heard  a  trumpet-blast  that  rang 
And  swelled  its  beating  note  prolonged,  until, 
All  shattered  by  the  piercing  sound,  the  stone 
In  fragments  burst,  and  from  our  prison  cold, 
Again  in  corporal  form,  a  mighty  wind 
Rapt  us  aloft,  and  as  if  on  the  wings 
Of  desert-whirlwinds,  with  resistless  force 
Swift  rushing,  dashed  us  through  the  air,  that  seemed 


168       DREAM  OF  PONTIUS  PILATE'S   WIFE. 

A  chaos  of  thick  darkness  palpable, 
Mingled  with  fire ;  and  armies  of  the  dead, 
Sprung  from  their  tombs  like  us  by  that  dread  trump, 
In  myriad-throngs  were  hurtled  through  the  gloom. 
How  far  we  thus  were  driven  I  felt  not,  for 
No  thought  could  measure  distance  then ;  but,  quick, 
In  an  instant,  all  the  innumerable  hosts 
Were  marshalled,  side  by  side,  along  a  bridge : 
A  narrow  bridge,  long  as  a  thousand  worlds- 
Its  very  ends  invisible  from  length ; 
And  all  upheld  only  by  slender  piers 
That  rested,  far  down,  on  a  sea  of  fire.    And  that, 
Not  like  dull-glowing  Phlegethon,  whose  stream, 
"Within  its  ninefold  belt  of  sluggish  red, 
Engirdles  feigned  Elysium :  billows  huge 
Of  tumbling  flame  I  saw,  that  surged  and  roared; 
Whose  breaking  crests  shot  up  fork'd  tongues  of  fire, 
Like  deadly  serpents'  tongues,  with  hissings  fierce ; 
While  fast  the  hungry  element  devoured 
The  burning  bases  of  the  slender  props 
That  held  us  from  their  jaws.     Oh,  horrible ! 

And  yet  not  long  I  gazed,  for  now  that  trump 
Had  ceased,  and,  from  a  distance  echoing, 
The  advancing  sounds  of  solemn  music  rose, 
And  "  Holy,  holy,  holy,  Lord  of  Hosts ! " 
Filled  the  becalmed  air.     I  looked  and  saw, 
Ranged  in  a  sevenfold  round  of  vast  expanse, 
Ten  thousand  times  ten  thousand  angel  forms, 
Whose  crystal  eyes,  and  ever-glancing  wings, 
And  loud-resounding  golden  harps,  flashed  light 


DREAM  OF  PONTIUS  PILATE'S    WIFE.      169 

Reflected  from  the  glory  of  their  God  ; 

Himself  as  yet  unseen  by  us,  behind 

His  thick  pavilion-curtains  of  dark  cloud. 

These  rolled  away,  but  then  my  dazzled  eyes, 

Dark  with  excess  of  light,  beheld  no  more : 

Till  lo  !  before  the  throne  a  Man  appeared, 

With  infinite  majesty  yet  meekness  clothed ; 

A  Man,  but  yet  instinct  with  Deity, 

Before  whom  all  the  heavenly  hosts  fell  down, 

And  sang  loud  alleluias,  whose  glad  noise 

Re-echoed  through  creation's  utmost  bound ; 

And  chiming  stars,  with  music  of  the  spheres, 

Swelled  the  triumphant  symphony  of  glory. 

That  Man  I  saw,  was  this  same  Jesus.     There, 

Before  His  Father's  throne  He  raised  His  hands, 

From  whose  new-opened  wounds  big  drops  distilled, 

While  from  His  blessed  feet  and  pierced  side 

The  ruddy  streams  rolled  down;  then  slow  held  out 

Those  bleeding  hands  to  thee,  and  awful  wrath 

And  doom  o'ershadowed  His  majestic  brow, 

While,  with  stern  voice,  yet  sorrowful,  He  said : 

"  This  Roman  had  the  power  to  release, 

Yet  he  gave  up  the  Innocent  to  die  !" 

Not  alleluias  now,  but  groans  of  woe, 
And  anguish  such  as  spirits  only  feel, 
Mingled  with  mutterings  of  deadly  hate, 
Were  heard :  and  all  the  illimitable  line 
That  overhung  the  fiery  ocean,  joined, 
With  gnashing  howls  and  execrations  dire, 
The  general  burst  of  fury.     At  the  sound, 
8 


170      DREAM  OF  PONTIUS  PILATE'S   WIFE. 

Cleaving  the  billows  of  the  burning  flood, 

A  flight  of  fiends  uprose :  their  black  wings  swept 

In  rapid  circles  round  through  rolling  smoke, 

Till  o'er  our  heads  their  forms  of  dusky  fire 

Hung  for  an  instant  poised;  then,  swooping  down 

Like  lightning,  round  thee  clutched  their  scorching  arms. 

Thou  sank'st ;  in  vain,  above  thy  blazing  head, 

Wringing  in  agony  ensanguined  hands, 

That  still  dropped  blood  before  high  Heaven !   And  when, 

Like  falling  meteors,  ye  plunged  in 

The  flaming,  roaring  gulph,  thy  piercing  shrieks 

So  shook  my  shivering  soul,  that  their  shrill  noise 

Scattered  the  shadows  of  tyrannic  sleep, 

And  scared  me  from  this  horror-laden  dream ; 

Whose  shuddering  terror  yet  benumbed  my  sense, 

And  that  cry  yet  was  ringing  in  mine  ears, 

When,  as  I  waked,  I  heard  the  rabble  hoarse 

Shout :  "  Crucify  Him !     Crucify  Him !" 

Thou 
Hast  heard  that  cry ;  thou  fearest  for  thy  power, 
Tottering  before  the  maddened  rage  of  mobs, 
Whose  loud  tongues  thirst  to  lap  up  innocent  blood ; 
But  have  thou  naught  to  do  with  that  just  Man ! 
He  is  a  God  !     With  mine  own  eyes  I  saw 
The  hosts  of  Heaven  fall  down  and  worship  Him! 
And  if,  though  guiltless,  thou  shalt  give  Him  o'er 
To  cruel  death,  His  blood  be  on  thy  head; 
And  fiery  vengeance  shall  devour  thy  soul ! 

Good-Friday,  1844. 


liberty 


DELIVERED    BEFORE    THE    LITERARY   SOCIETIES  OF    THE 
UNIVERSITY  OF  VERMONT,  ON  TUESDAY,  AUG.  3,  1847. 


If  the  Son  therefore  shall  make  you  free, 
Ye  shall  be  free  indeed. 

S.  John  viii.  36. 

— — Whose  service  is  perfect  freedom. 

Book  of  Common  Prayeb. 


Would'st  thou  be  free  ? 
Leave,  then, 
The  haunts  of  slavish  men, 
And  seek  the  wilds  of  Nature.     There,  alone, 
Behold  and  see 
How  thick  all  round  thee  have  been  sown 
The  untrammelled  prototypes  of  Liberty. 

The  Air  is  free: 
And,  un confined 
By  form  or  color,  like  a  Spirit  moves. 
Now,  with  a  mighty  rushing  blast,  the  wind 

Upheaves  the  sea ; 
Now,  a  tornado,  crashes  through  the  groves. 
Awhile  it  kindly  fills  the  swelling  sail ; 
Then,  rising  in  a  shrieking  gale, 
Scatters  the  crumbling  wrecks  upon  a  rough  lee-shore. 


172  LIBERTY, 

Up  from  the  earth,  on  viewless  pinion, 

It  wafts  at  will  the  fleecy  mist ; 
And,  gathered  by  the  breath  of  its  dominion, 
Adown  the  lowering  storm-clouds  pour 
Upon  the  thirsty  plain 
The  plashing  rain ; 
While  men,  in  silent  terror,  list 
The  thunders  shouting  from  the  sky, 
Or  start  when,  through  the  close-shut  eye, 
They  see  the  dazzling  lightnings  fly. 
Yet  oft,  amid  sweet-scented  valleys, 
The  gentle  zephyr  at  its  pleasure  dallies ; 
And  oft,  as  golden  evening  closes, 
The  fainting  breeze  reposes 

On  beds  of  roses ; 
Or,  silently  distilling, 
The  calm  air,  drop  by  drop,  is  filling 
Flower-cups  of  every  hue 
With  pearly  dew. 


And  Ocean,  too,  is  free ; 

Thou  canst  not  wake  his  slumbering  ire, 
Nor  charm  his  roused  wrath  at  thy  desire : 

By  his  own  fancy  moveth  he. 

At  times,  the  peaceful  little  isles 
In  sunshine  float  upon  a  sleeping  Ocean, 
That  girdles  them  without  a  sound  or  motion : 
Thus  darling  babes,  all  dimpled  o'er  with  smiles, 
Sleep  lulled  to  rest 

Upon  a  sleeping  mother's  breast. 


LIBERTY.  173 

But  when  the  winds  their  battle  trumpets  blow, 

Aloft,  with  martial  fury  flashing, 
Up  start  the  billowy  hosts,  their  armor  clashing ;   • 
With  crested  heads,  careering  to  and  fro, 
Shoreward  they  rush,  like  plumed  horsemen  dashing 
Headlong  on  the  foe. 
At  length,  within  the  hollow  bay, 
In  long-drawn,  pensive  sighs, 
The  tempest  dies 
Away. 
The  glassy  swells,  with  lazy,  loitering  sweep, 
Along  the  curved  beach  slow-lingering  creep, 
And  gently  round  the  silvery  circle  move, 
Till,  by  the  mellow  moon,  their  music  seems 
Soft  as  the  name  of  one  we  love, 
Murmured  in  dreams. 


The  solid  Earth  is  free ! 
Nor  arbitrary  will,  nor  force, 
Can  wrench  the  mountain-ranges  from  their  course. 

Where'er  they  list,  we  see 
Their  frozen  summits  bare  their  heads  on  high : 
While,  cushioned  soft  with  verdure  green, 
And  wet  by  rills 
That  tinkle  down  the  hills, 
The  nestling  vales  between, 
With  quiet  trustful  eye, 
Look  upward  at  the  sky. 
The  world  of  leaves  and  flowers  springs  up  to  birth, 
Unbidden,  o'er  the  earth. 


174  LIBERTY. 

No  Master's  word  commands 
The  gnarled  oak  to  flourish  where  he  stands ; 
Or  plants  the  pine's  perennial  pride 
On  the  steep  mountain-side ; 
Or  bends  the  willow  o'er  the  winding  brook ; 
Or  finds,  for  every  perfumed  nook, 
A  floweret  of  its  own  ; 
Or  clothes  in  mossy  vest  each  rock  and  stone. 
There  is  no  overseer 
To  track  the  blindworm  through 

The  loamy  soil, 
Or  watch  the  mole  pursue 
His  subterranean  toil ; 
Nor  skilful  engineer 
To  teach  the  beaver  build  his  dams  so  well. 
The  bee  requires  no  architect  to  tell 

How  she  shall  shape  her  cell ; 
Nor  housewife  needs,  with  frugal  care, 
Instruct  the  busy  little  ant  prepare 
Her  winter  fare. 
Without  a  driver's  rein, 
The  wild  ass  scours  the  scorching  plain. 
Unyoked,  the  galloping  bison  snorts, 
Through  clouds  of  dust, 
Across  the  trembling  prairies  to  his  old  resorts ; 
Nor  will  the  trampling  army  halt, 
Till  myriad  hoofs  have  crushed  the  crust 
That  spangles  all  the  snowy  vale  of  salt. 
No  despot  can  compel  the  lion  where 
To  take  his  prey, 
Or  when  to  roar ; 


LIBERTY.  175 

Or  by  his  mandate  scare 
The  prowling  tiger  from  his  lair, 
Or  bid  him  cease  to  slay, 
And  slake  his  thirst  with  gore. 
Unfettered,  through  the  deep, 
Roll  the  huge  whales ; 
And  finny  tribes,  in  painted  scales, 
Without  a  pilot,  to  their  courses  keep, 

And  steer  right  on, 
Till  in  far  distant  streams  they  store  their  spawn. 
At  will,  the  birds  traverse  the  heavenly  blue ; 
And,  when  brown  Autumn  comes, 
The  feathered  crew 
Spontaneous  navigate  the  seas  of  air, 
And  to  their  southern  homes 
Repair, 
O'er  many  a  shore 
Unseen  before. 
They  need  no  dictatorial  oversight 
To  point  their  flight ; 
Nor  doth  the  needle,  at  the  approach  of  Spring, 
Marshall  the  moving  of  their  homeward  wing. 


All  Nature  speakes  of  Freedom  ;  her  glad  voice 
Is  heard  in  all  the  waves 
That  thunder  through  old  Ocean's  caves, 
Or,  with  prolonged,  reverberating  noise, 
Echo  along  the  shore ; — 
And  melts  in  every  note  of  love, 
So  sweetly  "warbled  o'er 


176  LIBERTY, 

By  moonlight  nightingale 
Or  cooing  dove ; — 
And  breathes  the  charmed  silence,  deep  and  still, 
That  broods  at  midnight  on  the  hill, 
Or  hushes  all  the  vale. 

Man,  alone, 
To  whom  was  given  the  empire  of  the  whole, 

Man,  alone, 
Hath  lost  the  birthright  of  his  royal  soul ! 
All  the  wide  human  family  are  found 
With  checks,  and  curbs,  and  cramps,  and  fetters 

bound. 
Some  bow  their  necks  beneath  a  despot's  sway. 
In  servile  bondage  numbers  pine  away. 
Some  are  down-trodden  by  the  conqueror's  heel. 
Some  the  more  stealthy  strength  of  cunning  feel. 
Lawless  oppressors  round  the  feeble  swarm, 
And  grasp,  by  title  of  the  stronger  arm. 
Some  o'er  their  laws  and  rulers  loudly  mourn, 
Ground  down  by  taxes  grievous  to  be  borne. 
The  rich  are  servants  to  their  hoarded  store, 
While  hungry  want  chains  millions  to  the  oar. 
The  Soul,  subdued  by  passion's  siren  strain, 
Now  meanly  serves,  where  it  was  meant  to  reign. 
The  Mind,  all  darkened  by  the  Soul's  eclipse, 
No  longer  at  light's  Fountain  wets  her  lips  : 
Rush-lights  and  friction-matches  she'll  display, 
And  boast  that  these  turn  darkness  into  day  ! 
Strong  hearts,  surrounded  by  restraints,  which  they 
Feel  Nature  never  meant  them  to  obey, 


LIBERTY.  177 

Beat  madly  till  they  burst  their  prison  bars, 

Or  bleed,  and  break,  and  sink  like  falling  stars ! 

Men's  bodies,  bound  by  habit's  long  excess, 

Oppressed  by  diet  false  and  senseless  dress, 

Live  humble  slaves  to  tailors  and  French  cooks, 

Then  die  by  laws  laid  down  in  learned  books. 

For  many  minds  can  understand  no  thought 

But  what  they  were  in  school  and  college  taught ; 

This  is  the  only  test  of  truth  they  know  : 

u  Old  Doctors  said,  and  sure  it  must  be  so  I" 

Yet  change  alone  but  little  good  will  do ; 

Reformers  rise  in  shoals,  who  flounder  through 

All  wise  restraints,  and  fancy  they  are  free : 

But  when,  within,  is  no  true  Liberty, 

They  take  the  bridle  off,  and,  when  'tis  gone, 

All  they  can  do  is — put  the  halter  on ! 

In  politics  what  is  our  freedom  worth  ? 

Her  growth  was  stunted  from  her  very  birth. 

In  Boston  town  her  famous  Cradle  stands ; 

"Who'll    show  her    how  to    burst    her    swaddling 

bands  ? 
Party  now  reigns  supreme,  though  some  may  hint : 
"The  Constitution  still  exists'' — in  print! 
King  Caucus  lords  it  o'er  the  rank  and  file, 
Driven  to  the  ballot-box  like  cattle ;  while 
True  men  are  called,  by  every  hireling  tool, 
Traitors — to  those  who  have  no  right  to  rule  ! 
In  social  life,  ten  thousand  fetters  clog 
The  bounding  step  down  to  the  common  jog ; 
A  paradox  for  "  Sovereign  People  "  fit, 
That  all  claim  power,  yet  basely  all  submit. 


178  LIBERTY. 

No  man  may  think,  or  speak,  or  walk,  or  stand, 
But  just  as  other  people  may  demand. 
No  independent  citizen  may  dare 
To  eat  or  drink,  or  even  trim  his  hair, 
Or  change  the  contour  of  his  coat,  unless 
The  Nation  chooses  to  endorse  the  dress. 
Men  of  free  birth  are  clad  in  full-length  suits 
Of  abject  servitude,  from  hat  to  boots ; 
They  seem  to  think  inexorable  Fate 
Made  them,  like  monkeys,  but  to  imitate. 
'Tis  only  pity  that,  for  use  so  small, 
Men  should  be  born  with  any  brains  at  all ! 
And  still,  for  Fbeedom  every  soul  has  pined, — 
For  ever  seeking,  though  they  never  find. 
Freedom  has  left  them  ever  since  the  Fall, 
While  sin,  and  ignorance,  and  sloth,  enslave  them  all ! 

And  yet  would'st  thou  be  free  ? 
Look  well  around  thee,  then,  and  see, 

Throughout  all  Nature's  bound, 
What  is  that  blessed  thing  called  Liberty, 

And  where  it  may  be  found. 

For  man,  dethroned,  must  fain 
Seek,  in  the  subjects  of  his  own  domain, 
The  type  and  reason  of  his  former  reign. 

The  Air  is  free ;  yet  so 
That  it  must  be  and  move  by  laws. 

Each  sighing  breeze, 
And  gale,  and  whirlwind,  has  its  cause. 


LIBERTY.  179 

'Tis  not  by  chance  the  steady  trade-winds  blow 

Across  the  Indian  seas ; 
Or  clouds  float  lighter  round  the  mountain's  top 
Than  hang  so  heavy  o'er  the  vale  below. 
By  law  the  morning  dew  goes  up, 
Again  to  leave, 
On  the  cool  breath  of  eve, 
A  purer  pearl  to  fill  the  honied  cup. 
By  law  the  graceful  vapors  rise, 
And  rain-drops  fall  oblique  through  gusty  wind. 

By  law  the  rapid  lightning  flies, 
While  the  slow  thunder  lingers  long  behind ; 

And  when,  with  muttered  rumblings  ending, 

The  sullen  storm  resumes  his  lowering  march, 

By  regular  laws  his  colors  blending 

O'er  the  retiring  foe, 

The  sun,  victorious,  rears  the  round  rainbow, 

His  bright  triumphal  arch. 

Ocean  is  free ;  and,  where  he  pleases,  throwing 

His  giant  arms  inland, 
Their  tides  arterial, — ever  ebbing,  flowing, — 
Like  healthy  pulses  throb  along  the  strand : 

For  law  controls 
The  rise  and  fall  of  every  wave  that  rolls. 
And  though  the  billows  rave  and  roar, 
They  have  a  boundary  set, 

Which  will  not  let 
Their  rage  invade  the  shore, 
Or  their  loud  batteries  make  a  yawning  breach 
Through  rock  broad-breasted,  or  the  narrow  beach. 


180  LIBERTY. 

In  long  white  lines  the  hoarse-voiced  surges  roll 
Over  a  smooth-faced  shoal, 
Whose  shifting  sands  have  power,  beneath, 
To  put  a  bridle  'twixt  old  Ocean's  teeth, 
So  that  his  plunging  steeds  may  rear  and  bound, 

And  shake  their  snowy  mane, 
And  foam,  and  champ  the  bit,  and  paw  the  ground,  - 
In  vain ! 

The  Earth  is  free ;  yet  must 
The  granite  grey  compose  the  lowest  crust, 
And  regular  gradations  lead 
To  fertile  field  and  dewy  mead. 

The  mountain  head  must  still 
Be  bald  and  cold ;  while  from  the  hill, 
Springs  rise  and  rivers  run,  and,  as  they  go, 
Float  down  the  rich  alluvial  to  the  vale  below. 
By  law  the  palm  is  grown 
Within  the  torrid  zone ; 
And  the  birch  shows 
Its  dwarf-like  bushes  amid  arctic  snows. 
By  law  the  willow  bends,  the  floweret  blows ; 
And  the  cold  stone  is  dressed 
In  mossy  vest. 
By  law  the  blindworm  burrows,  and  the  mole. 
By  law  the  bee  and  beaver  build, 
The  emmet's  granaries  are  filled, 
The  solitary  wild  ass  spurns  control, 
And  bisons  roam  in  herds. 
By  law,  lions  and  tigers  feed 
On  living  prey,  whose  blood  their  thirst  assuages ; 


LIBERTY.  181 

By  law  the  fish  move  up  the  streams  to  breed, 

And  flocks  of  birds 
In  Spring  and  Fall  perform  their  pilgrimages. 

All  Nature  speaks  of  Law. 
And  as,  of  old,  the  wise  Amphion  saw 

The  walls  of  Thebes  to  heaven  asjjire, 
The  while  his  fingers  swept  the  sounding  lyre: 

So,  at  the  voice  of  Law, 
Freedom  arose ;  whose  notes  of  ravishing  tone 
Are  sweet  harmonics  of  a  deeper  string 
Thau  she  can  call  her  own. 
Freedom,  that  lovely,  holy  thing, — 
Whose  beaming  grace 
Smileth  o'er  land  and  sea, — 
Is  Nature's  light  and  flowing  melody : 

In  Law,  alone, 
Is  found  her  fixed  and  fundamental  base, 
On  which  is  built,  through  everlasting  years, 
The  Music  of  the  Spheres. 

And  Man,  too,  hath  his  laws. 
Laws  of  the  land. 
That  cannot  stand 
A  twelvemonth  without  changing ; — 
Laws  of  the  Schools, 
For  making  pedants  out  of  fools ; — 
And  laws  of  fashion,  taste,  and  etiquette, 

With  thousand  others  yet, 
Which  men  continually  are  re-arranging, 


182  LIBERTY. 

And  mostly  for  no  cause. 
They  make  laws  for  themselves,  and  thus  forget 
The  solid  grain  to  legislate  on  straws. 
Hence  from  these  laws,  in  thousand  forms,  have 
grown 
Oppression,  slavery,  and  misery  and  woe : 
Yet  still  the  human  race  go  on, 
Though  streams  of  blood  and  tears  unceasing  flow ! 

Not  thus  with  Nature ! 
She  claims  no  right  divine  of  legislature. 
For  neither  Air,  nor  Ocean, 

ISTor  teeming  Earth 
Did  bring  themselves  to  birth, 
Or  could  endow  themselves  with  life  or  motion. 
The  laws  of  Nature  are  the  laws  of  GOD  ; 
For,  in  the  sense  of  Cause, 
Or  unseen  Power  that  maketh  laws, 
Nature  is  but  another  name  for  GOD. 
He,  like  a  curtain  spreads  the  heavens  on  high, 
And  sends  the  feathered  fowl  to  wing  the  sky. 
The  strong  foundation  of  the  earth  He  moulded, 
And  round  it,  like  a  garment,  folded 
The  great  wide  deep, 
With  bounds  which  it  must  keep. 
Into  the  vales  that  run  among  the  hills, 
He  sends  the  bubbling  spring ; 
The  thirsty  beasts  throng  round  the  purling  rills, 
And  birds  among  the  bending  branches  sing. 
From  Him  the  roaring  lions  seek  their  prey, 
Prowling  in  darkness ;  at  the  dawn  of  day, 


LIBERTY.  183 

Back  to  their  dens  they  hie  away. 
He  bloweth  with  His  wind,  and  waters  flow ; 
High  as  the  heaven  the  billows  go, 

And  down  to  gulfs  below. 
The  ready  lightnings  run,  all  crying: 
"  Lord  !  here  we  are !" 
The  thunder  is  His  glorious  voice  replying 

From  heaven  afar. 
And  He  it  is  that  makes  the  tempest  cease ; 
And,  when  He  will, 
Saith:  "Peace! 
Be  still!" 
And  hangs  His  bow  of  mercy's  radiant  form 
On  the  retreating  storm. 
He,  from  His  treasure,  brings 
The  early  and  the  latter  rain ; 
He  giveth  snow  like  wool,  and  hoar-frost  flings, 
Like  ashes,  o'er  the  wintry  plain ; 
And  as  when  Gideon  drew 
The  sword  at  His  command, 
So  now  His  hand 
Drops  or  withholds  the  evening  dew. 
All  living  things  He  fills  with  plenteousness, 

And  all  His  Name  do  bless, 
Shining  in  glorious  liberty,  because 
All  are  obedient  to  their  Maker's  laws 
As  at  the  first ; 
While  man  alone  is  curst  I 

The  God  of  Nature  is  the  God  of  Man ; 
Who,  if  he  were  not  blind, 


184  LIBERTY. 

Would  find 
That,  since  he  never  was,  nor  can 
Become,  the  Author  of  his  own  estate, 
He  has  no  'primal  right  to  legislate. 
The  Law  of  GOD  is  pure  ;  it  giveth  light 
Unto  the  eyes,  and  doth  impart 
Deep  wisdom  to  the  simple  mind. 
The  Statutes  of  the  Lord  are  right ; 
The  constant  thought 
Of  them  brings  fresh  rejoicing  to  the  heart. 
By  them  His  servants  all  are  taught, 
For  there  they  find 
A  lantern  unto  wandering  feet  by  night, 
Casting  its  beams  afar. 
True  are  His  judgments,  failing  never; 

Perfect  they  are, 
And  God  hath  grounded  them  for  ever. 
Therefore  to  man,  as  to  the  rest 

Of  His  creation, 
Obedience  is  the  only  way 

Whereby  he  can  be  blessed ; 
And,  without  this,  is  no  salvation. 
A  perfect  LAW  is  given ; — let  Man  obey  ! 


And  can  it  be 

That  Reason,  then,  whose  wondrous  force 

Can  probe  the  earth  and  sound  the  sea, 

And  whose  sublime  discourse 

Reaches  to  heaven, — 

That  this,  with  our  mysterious  Will,  was  given 


LIBERTY.  185 

For  naught  ?     Ah,  do ! 
For  as  Man  was  the  crowning  part 
Of  all  creative  art, 
So,  with  his  nobler  birth, 
Was  his  obedience  meant  to  flow, — 
Not  from  blind  instinct,  which  can  know 
Nor  choice,  nor  worth, — 
But  from  the  clear  bright  eye 
Of  knowledge  high, 
And  onward  move 
With  heart  enkindled  by  the  flame  of  Love ! 
Then  love  thy  God  and  Saviour !     He  is  Love ; 
And  he  who  dwells  in  love 
Dwelleth  in  God,  and  God  in  him. 
Thus  shall  thy  cup 
Of  Freedom  be  filled  up 
With  living  waters,  bubbling  o'er  the  brim ; 
And  thy  emancipated  soul  shall  own, 
When  He 
Hath  made  thee  free, 
That  this,  and  this  alone, 
Deserves  the  noble  name  of  LIBERTY. 

In  vain,  then,  hath  the  world 
So  oft  unfurled 
The  red  flag  of  rebellion  to  misrule ; 

The  oppressed  in  vain  have  hurled 
The  oppressor  down,  and,  in  the  ruddy  pool 
Of  his  own  blood,  washed  out  his  crime; 
In  vain  have  mobs  arisen 
Time  after  time, 


186  LIBERTY. 

Burst  open  every  despot's  prison, 
Plundered  the  palace  of  its  precious  things, 
And  stamped  their  heels  upon  the  neck  of  kings. 

They  were  not  therefore  free; 
Freedom  from  tyrants  is  not  Lebekty. 
From  age  to  age  the  world  enslaved  hath  lain, 
Like  a  chained  prisoner,  in  fevered  pain ; 
Who,  all  night  long,  but  tosses  to  and  fro, 

Haunted  by  horrid  dreams, 
Through  which  his  struggling  soul,  in  vain, 
Fights  for  some  fancied  prize, 
That  dancing  gleams 
Before  his  eyes, 
Although 
What  it  may  be  he  doth  not  know. 
Dark  scenes  of  blood  affright 

His  shuddering  sight ; 
At  each  imagined  blow 
Is  heard  a  fearful  groaning ; 
At  every  spasm  and  laboring  throe 

The  husky  voice  breaks  out 
In  shrieking,  muttering,  and  moaning, 
Or  wailing  notes  of  misery  and  woe ; 
While  loudly,  through  the  long-fought  battle, 
His  clanking  chains  for  ever  rattle ! 


But  lo !    The  night  is  now  far  gone, 
And  soon  shall  have  its  ending. 
Day  is  at  hand  ! — a  blessed  dawn, 


LIBERTY.  187 

When,  with  a  shout, 
"With  the  Archangel's  voice,  and  trump  of  God, 
We  shall  behold  the  LORD  from  heaven  descending ! 
His  feet 
Shall  stand  upon  Mount  Olivet, 

Whose  wooded  height  they  trod 
When  to  His  Father's  home  the  angels  bore  Him. 
On  either  hand, 
Gathered  from  every  coast, 
Ten  thousand  saints  shall  round  Him  stand, 
Ten  thousand    times    ten    thousand    kneel    before 
Him;— 

A  billowy  host, 
Brighter  than  blazing  seas  in  sunshine  rolling. 
To  east,  west,  south,  and  north, 
The  Reapers  shall  rush  forth, 
And  home,  from  earth  and  sea, 
Gather  the  harvest  to  the  granary : 
While,  all  alone, 
The  heathen's  rage  controlling, 
Shall  Judah's  Lion, 
The  KING  OF  KINGS  and  LORD  OF  LORDS,  ride  on, 
Trampling  His  foes  victoriously ; 
Then  build  His  throne 
Aloft  on  Zion, 
And  reign  before  His  ancients  gloriously  ! 
Over  the  mountain  tops  His  mount  shall  rise, 
And  of  all  nations  draw  the  adoring  eyes  ; 
For  His  dominion  then  shall  be 
From  sea  to  sea, 
And  from  the  river,  round 


188  LIBERTY. 

To  the  world's  utmost  bound. 
Forth  to  the  Gentiles  from  Jerusalem 
Shall  living  waters  flow :  of  them 
Half  to  the  former  sea  shall  go, 
Half  to  the  hinder  flow ; 
Nor  summer's  heat  shall  dry 
The  moistened  shore, 
Nor  winter's  cold  suspend  the  rich  supply, 

For  evermore. 
The  curse  of  Babel's  tower  shall  then  be  o'er: 
But  one  pure  speech 
All  round  the  world  shall  reach, 
And  the  LORD'S  glorious  NAME 
Be  everywhere  the  same. 
Nor  grief,  nor  care,  nor  sigh, 
Shall  then  be  nigh ; 
Nor  tears  of  woe 
Shall  flow : 
But  by  his  own  domestic  vine 
Shall  every  man  recline, 
And,  'neath  the  fig-tree's  shade, 
None  make  their  hearts  afraid. 
For  wars  shall  cease ; 
Swords  shall  be  turned  to  ploughs, 
And  spears,  transformed,  shall  prune  the  boughs 
Of  fruitful  trees; 
While  peace  again 
Shall  reign, 
Supreme  o'er  hill  and  plain 
And  bosky  dell. 
Then  with  the  wolf  the  lamb  shall  dwell, 


LIBERTY.  189 

The  leopard  with  the  kid  lie  down  at  ease, 
And,  in  their  laughing  play, 
Shall  little  children  lay 

The  guiding  rein 
Upon  the  lion's  mane. 
The  desert  shall  rejoice 
And  blossom  as  the  rose, 
And  every  living  creature  find  a  voice, 
To  swell  the  joyous  noise. 
The  little  birds,  with  all  their  warbling  loves, 
Shall  sing  among  the  ringing  woods  ; 

And,  joining  those, 
The  hills  shall  dauce  in  ranged  bands, 
With  all  their  nodding  groves ; 

The  winds  fresh-blowing, 
And  purling  streams  soft-flowing, 
In  liquid  concert  move ; 
And  deep-toned  floods, 
Clapping  their  hands, 
Shall  crown  the  bursting  Jubilee 
Of  universal  Love. 
All  Nature  then  shall  be 
In  perfect  unison  with  Man, 

And  Man  with  Deity. 
Once  more,  as  when  the  world  began, 
Shall  GOD  be  ALL  EST  ALL,  and  the  whole  world  be 
FREE. 


SUNSHINE  ON    THE    SEA. 


The  Sun  on  high  is  One. 
Along  the  pathway  of  his  burning  zone 
He  rides  in  royal  majesty,  alone ; 
Nor  all  the  myriad  lights  of  earth  can  show 
Another  sun  below. 
The  Sea  is  One. 
Without  a  break,  without  a  bound, 
It  runneth  all  the  wide  world  round ; 
Its  tides  go  up,  its  rolling  billows  roar 
On  every  shore. 
Without  that  mighty  sea 
No  single  wave  could  be; 
Yet  from  itself  no  light  can  rise, — 
Silent  and  dark  the  sluggish  water  lies : 
But  when  the  quickening  breezes  sweep 
Athwart  the  slumbering  deep, 
Ten  thousand  thousand  suns  all  flash  and  glow 
In  the  sea  below. 

Our  God  on  high  is  One. 
O'er  earth  and  heaven,  whose  hosts  are  all  his  own, 
He  reigns  in  royal  pomp  and  power,  alone ; 
Nor  all  the  wondrous  might  of  man  can  show 

Another  god  below. 


SUNSHINE   ON  THE  SEA.  191 

The  Cinmcn  is  One. 
To  east  and  west  and  south  and  north 
Her  bannered  armies  have  gone  forth  ; 
Her  trumpet  has  been  blown,  her  flag  unfurled 
O'er  all  the  world. 
Without  this  Church's  aid 
No  Christian  can  be  made ; 
Yet  can  her  breast  no  life  impart, 
No  warmth  to  melt  the  cold  and  stony  heart : 
But  when  God's  Quickening  Spirit  moves 
Over  the  Church  He  loves, 
Ten  thousand  thousand  souls  all  burn  and  shine 
With  fire  divine. 

1848. 


THE  LESSER  AOT)  THE  GREATER  LIGHT. 


The  Stars  are  faintly  trembling, 

Far  in  the  distant  skies ; 
Ten  thousand  thousand  scarce  can  show 

Where  the  broad  pathway  lies. 


The  Moon,  a  barren  maiden, 

Now  shines  o'er  wood  and  wold ; 

But  cheerless  is  her  borrowed  light, 
Cheerless,  and  chill,  and  cold. 


The  royal  Sun  is  rising, 

The  King  of  light  and  day ; 
The  Stars  all  fail,  the  Moon  grows  pale, 

And  darkness  flies  away ! 

Stars  are  the  Light  of  Nature, 

That  heathen  minds  adore ; 
They  view  from  far  the  trembling  rays, 

And  groping  sigh  for  more. 

The  Moon  is  barren  Morals, 

A  cold  and  cheerless  one ; 
Who  borrows  all  the  light  she  has, — 

Borrows  it  from  the  Sun. 


SONGS  OF  THE  HEART.  193 

HE  is  the  King  of  Glory, 

The  Lord  of  Light  and  Day ; 
When  o'er  the  soul  His  splendors  roll, 

All  darkness  flies  away  1 

1846. 


SONGS    OF   THE   HEAET. 


Drowned  in  the  thundering  roll  of  the  Organ's  deep 
diapason, 
All  unheard  are  the  songs  sung  by  the  lowly  of  heart. 
Soon  are  the  loud  tones  mute,  all  dying  away  in  the 
distance ; 
While  those  songs  of  the  heart  open  the  portal  of 
Heaven. 
1849 


€&e  Mississippi  Eitier. 


The  Monarch  of  Waters  I  see, 
With  his  winding  wide  expanse ; 
His  rich  wooded  shores  and  islands 
Are  changing  at  every  glance. 
To  his  current  so  deep  and  strong, 
Drawn  in  by  a  power  controlling, 
A  thousand  rivers  are  borne  along, 
Down  to  old  ocean  rolling. 

His  banks  with  forests  are  lined, 
For  so  noble  a  river  meet  ; 
The  cotton-tree  towering  proudly, 
With  the  willow-wood  soft  at  his  feet. 
There  are  islands  of  verdure  bright, 
There  are  deep  shady  dingles  between, 
With  a  line  of  sharp,  sun-flashing,  silvery  light, 
Drawn  under  the  dark  cool  green. 

The  riches  of  northern  climes 

The  rise  of  his  waters  obey; 

They  are  borne  down  his  buoyant  channel, 

To  the  warm  sunny  South  far  away. 


THE  MISSISSIPPI  RIVER.  195 

And  back  from  the  South  to  the  North, 
See  the  deep-freighted  vessels  ascending ; 
The  wealth  of  the  uttermost  ends  of  the  earth, 
By  the  changes  of  commerce  blending. 

Not  clear  as  the  crystal  pure, 
Like  the  brooks  of  a  rough  mountain-land, 
The  flood  as  it  pours  through  the  valley 
Is  sullied  by  mire  and  sand. 
And  whirlpools  and  eddies  seem, 
With  their  ripples  in  endless  motion, 
To  wrinkle  the  face  of  the  dark  turbid  stream, 
Till  they  melt  in  the  swell  of  the  ocean. 

Yet  the  green-tufted  fringe  on  its  banks 
Is  reversed  by  the  stream  as  it  flows ; 
The  white  fleecy  clouds  o'er  its  bosom 
Come  floating  in  mirror'd  repose. 
Now  'tis  all  in  a  blaze  from  the  west!  — 
A  river  of  red  gold  resembling ; 
While  at  night  the  stars  blink  o'er  its  broad  brown 
breast, 
With  the  silvery  moonlight  blending. 

Like  thee  is  the  Church  of  God  ; 
And  like  to  thy  proud  current  free, 
With  its  waters  forever  changing, 
Yet  still  rolling  on  to  the  sea : 
So,  the  Church  is  a  glorious  stream, 
With  a  noble  field  before  her; 
Though  changing  forever,  forever  the  same, 
As  age  upon  age  rolls  o'er  her. 


196  THE  MISSISSIPPI  RIVER. 

On  either-hand  shore,  well  fed 
By  the  tide  as  it  rolls  between, 
The  forests,  the  river-side  clothing, 
Rejoice  in  perennial  green. 
There  are  coverts  sequestered  in  shade, 
For  the  children  of  grief  and  mourning, 
Where  the  tear  may  fall  and  the  prayer  be  said, 
While  the  sinner  to  God  is  turning. 

How  humble  the  source  of  the  Church ! 
Then  swelling  from  day  to  day, 
Apostles,  and  Prophets,  and  Martyrs, 
And  Fathers — a  noble  array ! 
Victorious  was  their  fight, 
Heroic  their  solemn  story ; 
They  perished  not  when  their  souls  took  flight, 
To  their  home  in  the  mansions  of  glory. 

And  when,  in  these  evil  times, 
Disturbance  and  doubt  arise, 
Then  back  to  those  ages  hoary 
We  turn  our  inquiring  eyes. 
'Tis  a  mine  of  the  finest  ore, 
A  treasure  never  ending, 
From  the  hands  of  the  Saints  who  have  gone  before, 
Down  to  our  own  descending. 

And  the  Church  is  not  wholly  pure, 
For  often,  with  dangerous  force, 
The  whirlpools  and  eddies  of  passion 
Distemper  her  onward  course. 


THE  MISSISSIPPI  RIVER.  197 

Since  the  Church  did  first  begin, 
Her  earthly  sons  and  daughters 
With  infirmity,  vanity,  lust  and  sin, 
Have  sullied  her  heavenly  waters. 

Yet  shadowy  lights  from  above 
Flit  over  her  troubled  breast ; 
And  heavenly  hosts  are  guarding 
The  home  of  our  earthly  rest. 
The  star  of  our  Faith  rides  bright 
O'er  the  waves  of  the  turbid  river, 
And  the  stream  of  the  Church  is  a-blaze  with  the 
light 
Of  a  Sun  that  shall  shine  forever. 

As  of  old,  when  the  tongues  of  fire, — 
Bright  emblem  for  all  mankind ! — 
On  the  heads  of  the  Twelve  descended, 
With  the  sound  of  a  rushing  wind : 
So,  drawn  by  the  power  of  Chiiist, 
From  the  darkness  in  which  they  slumbered, 
From  thousands  of  kingdoms  the  bands  of  the  blest 
In  the  fold  of  the  Church  are  numbered. 

She  lingereth  not  in  her  course, 
Her  current  bears  onward  still ; 
It  passes  by  woodland  and  island, 
Nor  sleeps  under  hamlet  .or  hill : 
It  rolls  by  its  tempting  shores 
With  a  rapid  and  soundless  motion, 
Till  it  garners  its  myriad-mingled  stores 
At  home,  in  Eternity's  ocean  ! 


198  THE  MISSISSIPPI  RIVER. 

There,  a  sea  of  Saints  redeemed, 
Gathered  from  every  zone, 
Triumphant,  glorious  army, 
Stands  banded  around  the  Throne. 
"We  all  shall  be  there— yes,  all ! 
For  Christ  hath  gone  before  us : 
And  our  billowy  wings  shall  rise  and  fall, 
As  we  join  the  loud  angel-chorus. 

Mississippi  River,  July,  1844. 


IBcntienue. 


With  pensive  joy  once  more  I  view 
Thy  lovely  scenes,  sweet  Benvenue ! 
Whose  grove-bound  garden,  shady  dell, 
Orchards,  and  hills  with  wooded  swell, 
Were  to  my  childish  eyes 
An  earthly  Paradise. 
Still  girt  with  green  the  old  stone  Hall 
Stands  with  its  rough  time-tinted  wall ; 
The  cedars  still  are  nigh 
Its  wide  and  breezy  porches :  but  of  all 

The  poplars  high 
That,  planted  close  about  the  grassy  yard, 
In  stately  file  stood  round  the  house  on  guard 
Like  grenadiers, 
Not  one  appears ! 

Circled  by  emblematic  thyme, 
Whose  fragrant  tendrils  round  him  climb, 
I  see  the  old  stone  Dial  stand ; 
He,  with  his  rusted  iron  hand, 
Before  the  Locust  Bower, 
Still  points  the  silent  hour. 
The  brook  I  see,  where  when  a  boy 
I  caught  the  little  fishes  coy, 


200  BENVENUE. 

And,  rapturous  at  the  sight, 
Made  the  wide  forest  ring  with  shouts  of  joy 

And  wild  delight : 
Their  gold-brown  backs  and  sides  of  silver  fine. 
Their  crystal  fins  and  jewelled  eyes,  were  mine! 
They  all  are  gone : 
Yet  the  brook  flows  on. 


The  doves  that,  with  their  downy  throats, 
Their  whistling  wings  and  cooing  notes, 
I  loved  so  much,  are  not;  but  still 
I  hear,  from  underneath  the  hill, 
Far  down  the  grassy  dell, 
The  tinkling  wether-bell. 
The  Sabbath  stillness,  as  of  old, 
Descends  serene  o'er  wood  and  wold, 

And,  through  the  peaceful  calm, 
Forth  from  the  humble  village  church  is  rolled 

The  full-toned  psalm. 
Yet  sadness  strange  through  each  remembrance  runs 
In  hall,  and  bower,  and  church,  the  aged  ones 
I  loved  of  yore 
I  see  no  more ! 

Where  is  my  old  Grandame  ?    Not  here 

I  see  her  bended  form  appear, 

Or  by  the  little  table  knit, 

With  snow-white  cap,  or  sewing  sit 

Before  the  cheerful  fire. 

And  where  my  gray  Grandsire  ? 


BENVENUE.  201 

Who  took  me  oft  upon  his  knees, 
Showed  me  the  wondrous  cells  of  bees, 
With  honey  oozing  o'er ; 
Or  pruned,  with  active  care,  the  bearing  trees, 

Or  gleaned  their  store. 
His  prayer  awoke  the  morn  with  early  zeal, 
And  asked  a  blessing  on  each  frugal  meal. 
That  voice  mine  ear 
No  more  shall  hear ! 

Down  in  the  opening  vale  is  seen, 
With  mingling  tints  of  white  and  green, 
The  grave-yard,  in  whose  bosom  cold 
Lies,  full  of  years,  that  Grandsire  old. 
The  grass  upon  his  breast, — 
Unbroken  is  his  rest  1 
Alas !  far  from  this  quiet  shade 
The  partner  of  his  life  is  laid, 
And  in  a  colder  land : 
But  their  fond  souls,  though  some  few  years  delayed, 

Together  stand ; 
Have  found  each  other  in  Our  Father's  Home, 
And,  arm  in  arm,  by  living  fountains  roam, 
On  the  heavenward  side 
Of  Death's  cold  tide. 

Nor  are  the  loved  ones  all  gone  yet ; 
Nay,  Cousins,  think  ye  I  forget  ? 
How  oft,  when  thought  the  scene  recalls, 
I  see,  in  those  embowered  halls, 


202  BENVENTJE. 

Dear  living  faces  shine 
With  loving  eyes  on  mine ! 
Farewell,  once  more,  sweet  Benvenue  I 
Thou  hast  re-touched  with  sober  hue, 

Ev'n  dashed  with  some  sad  tears, 
The  rosy  picture  warm  Remembrance  drew 

From  Life's  young  years. 
Yet,  while  I  stood  beholding  thee  again, 
New  love-wrought  links  still  lengthened  out  the  chain 
That  binds  me  fast 
To  the  golden  past. 

1844. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 


Lines  addressed  to  Mb.  and  Mrs.  P. 


'  Where  your  treasure  is,  there  will  your  heart  be  also.1 


Listen,  Mother,  dost  thou  hear  a  sound  ? 
Her  voice,  her  step,  fond  mourner !  canst  thou  hear  ? 
With  swimming  eyes  how  oft  thou  look'st  around, 
As  if  thy  loved  one  still  were  near ! 
And,  at  deep  midnight,  why 

Along  the  floor, 
Why  by  her  chamber-door, 
With  gentle  foot-fall  glide  adown  the  stair  ? 
While  yet,  with  tremulous  voice,  I  hear  thee  sigh, 
"  She  is  not  there !  " 

Seek  her,  Father,  by  the  winding  stream, 
The  path  that  skirts  the  hill-top's  shady  brow ; 
There,  by  the  struggling  sunshine's  fitful  gleam 
Up-flashing  from  the  wave  below, — 

There,  where  she  loved  to  roam, — 

Hast  thou  not  seen, 
Far  in  the  forest  green, 
Her  light  robe  fluttering  in  the  breezy  air  ? 
Alone,  thou  turnest  to  thy  silent  home : 
She  is  not  there ! 


204         ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

Sabbath  stillness  o'er  the  earth  doth  brood, 
While,  bowed  with  years  and  sorrow,  ye  are  seen 
Slow  wending  onward  by  the  old  oak  wood, 
And  upward  to  the  graveyard  green. 
There,  with  the  dead,  alone, 

Ye  moveless  stand ; 
Yet  why,  with  trembling  hand, 
Cling  to  each  other  by  that  hillock  bare  ? 
Why  rain  your  tear-drops  on  the  marble  stone  ? 
She  is  not  there  ! 

Mourn  no  longer !    Rather  bless  the  grave, 
Our  portal  to  the  palaces  of  bliss ! 
Our  Fatheb,  Lord  of  Hosts,  mighty  to  save, 
Hath  taken  home,  from  woe  like  this, 
The  treasure  He  had  given. 

His  lips  have  said : 
"  Where'er  the  treasure's  laid 
Thither  the  heart  its  deepest  love  will  bear." 
She  was  your  treasure ;  raise  your  love  to  Heaven, 
For  she  is  there  I 

1844. 


Cbe  ©10  Pine=€ree. 


Blown  Down  at  Rock  Point,  Burlington,  Vermont,  in  the 
Gale  of  the  Fourth  op  April,  1845. 


With  royal  form  and  changeless  verdure  graced, 
Through  ages  long  this  lofty  Pine  hath  stood. 
What  though  the  soil  were  rude, 
A  hill  of  solid  stone  ? 
By  patient  toil  his  gnarled  roots  embraced 
A  sterner  strength  to  reinforce  their  own : 
Twisted  round  the  stubborn  rocks, 
They  have  laughed  at  tempest-shocks, 
When  all  the  tender  nurslings  of  the  vale 
Bowed  down  before  the  gale. 

Here,  through  the  winters  long,  his  tufted  head, 
Serene  and  cheerful,  o'er  the  dreary  scene 

Raised  its  perennial  green ; 

And  when  'neath  summer's  glow 
The  sultry  earth  grew  faint,  his  arms  outspread 
Their  shade  paternal  o'er  the  vale  below. 
High  among  his  branches  here, 
Birds  have  nestled  year  by  year, 
Here  fledged  their  broods,  and  carolled  loud  and  long 

Their  morn  and  even  song. 


206  THE  OLD  PINE-TREE, 

Now  fondly  round  his  fallen  trunk  we  stand, 
Lamenting  o'er  the  storm  whose  cruel  rage 
Spared  not  his  green  old  age ; 
The  little  birds  that  come 
On  wing  unwearying  from  a  warmer  land 
To  hail  with  rapturous  song  their  northern  home, 
Pause,  as  round  and  round  they  sail, 
Trilling  forth  a  plaintive  wail ; 
And  all  with  sorrow  say,  with  pity  see : 
"  Here  lies  a  noble  tree ! " 


Thus,  gentle  reader,  though  thy  portion  stands 
Mid  rugged  scenes  whose  rough  and  barren  soil 

Demands  unceasing  toil, 

Wing  not  thy  lazy  flight 
To  far-off  fields  and  softer,  sunnier  lands ! 
See  how  the  Pine  up  rears  his  lordly  height 
Where  his  sturdy  sires  had  grown, 
Planted  deep  on  hills  of  stone ; 
While  thistle-seeds  go  flaunting  to  and  fro 

On  all  the  winds  that  blow. 


Strike  deep  thy  roots,  clasp  firm  the  stubborn  rocks, 
By  patience  turn  thy  weakness  into  strength, 
And  thus  shalt  thou  at  length 
See  round  thee,  far  and  near, 
Transplanted  nurslings  torn  by  tempest-shocks 
Which  thou  canst  laugh  to  scorn ;  while  year  by  year, 
Broad  thy  friendly  shade  shall  grow, 
Sheltering  all  the  vale  below : 


THE   OLD  PINE-TREE.  207 

And  thy  loved  brood,  secure  from  hostile  harms, 
Shall  nestle  in  thine  arms. 

Thus  shall  thy  branch  be  strong,  thy  head  be  high; 
And  when,  in  green  old  age,  thy  stately  form 
Bends  to  the  rising  storm, 
And  falls  to  rise  no  more, 
Soft  on  thy  native  soil  thy  limbs  shall  lie, 
Not  tossed,  like  drift-wood,  on  a  stranger  shore* 
Round  thy  fallen  trunk  shall  stand 
Friends  and  sons,  a  loving  band, 
Whose  tongues  shall  say,  whose  weeping  eyes  shall  see : 
"  Here  lies  a  noble  Tree !  " 

1846. 


il3o  s©ore. 


'Tis  eve.     And  from  the  eastern  height 
Gray  Twilight  leads  the  spangled  Night ; 
Prom  hill  and  vale  the  welcome  gloom 
Now  sends  the  heavy  laborers  home, 
And  Silence  shuts  the  door. 
At  length  o'er  nature  Sleep  resumes  her  reign, 
And  weary  hearts  are  wrung  by  grief  and  pain 

No  more. 


Closed  is  the  sightless  eye ;  the  ear 
Doth  no  melodious  music  hear ; 
Pleasure  and  Passion  drop  the  rein ; 
The  tongue  is  mute,  the  busy  brain 
Forgets  its  labored  lore. 
Yet,  though  sweet  Slumber  wears  a  death-like  face, 
The  bed  is  but  a  transient  resting-place — 

No  more. 

So,  when  our  day  of  life  is  done, 

Gray  Twilight's  shades  come  glooming  on ; 

And,  as  we  hasten  to  the  close, 

The  earthly  toils,  and  fears,  and  woes, 


NO  MORE.  209 

That  troubled  us  before, 
All  hie  them  homeward  to  the  grave,  and  there 
They  vex  the  wearied  heart  with  grief  and  care 

No  more. 


Closed  is  the  sightless  eye ;  the  ear 

No  warbling  strain  shall  ever  hear ; 

Pleasure  and  Passion  drop  the  rein  ; 

The  tongue  is  mute,  the  busy  brain 

Here  loses  all  its  lore : 

Yet,  though  pale  Death  is  stamped  upon  the  face, 

The  grave  is  but  a  transient  resting-place — 

No  more. 

Then  sleep  on  now,  and  take  your  rest, 
Ye  saints  whom  Jesus'  love  hath  blest. 
Dawn  on  the  eastern  mountains  stands ! 
At  sunrise  ye  shall  burst  your  bands, 
On  glorious  wing  shall  soar, 
And  sing  your  morning  song  before  the  Throne, 
Where  Night  and  Sleep  shall  cease,  and  Death  be  known 

No  more ! 

1845. 


"BLESSED  ARE   THE  DEAD  WHO  DIE 
IN   THE  LORD." 


Weep  not,  Christian,  weep  not, 

Wipe  all  thy  tears  away ! 
Those  who  leave  thee,  sleep  not 
Under  the  cold,  dull  clay ! 
Weep  not  for  the  Babe !    Thy  plighted  word 
Hath  planted  in  the  Garden  of  the  Lord 
A  bud,  that  by  the  stream  of  Life  shall  bloom, 
Nor  waste  on  earth  its  heavenly  perfume. 
Mother !  let  songs  of  triumph  dry  thy  tears  1 
For,  while  thou  lingerest  on  some  few  dark  years, 
Thy  blessed  offspring  to  his  glorious  place 
Hath  gone  before, 
And  sees  the  brightness  of  his  Father's  face 
For  evermore ! 

Weep  not,  Christian,  weep  not, 

Wipe  all  thy  tears  away ! 
Those  who  leave  thee,  sleep  not 
Under  the  cold,  dull  clay ! 
Weep  not  for  the  strong  and  full-grown  Man, 
Who  valiantly  the  fight  of  life  began, 
Girt  with  the  sword  that  pierces  from  afar, 
With  helm  and  shield,  and  panoply  of  war. 


BLESSED  ABE  THE  DEAD,  211 

Hath  he  been  taken  ere  his  work  was  done  ? 

Wafted  aloft  with  all  his  armor  on  ? 

Warriors,  when  summoned  from  their  earthly  posts 

To  yonder  shore, 
Stand  in  the  armies  of  the  Lord  of  Hosts 

For  evermore ! 

Weep  not,  Christian,  weep  not, 

Wipe  all  thy  tears  away  ! 
Those  who  leave  thee,  sleep  not 
Under  the  cold,  dull  clay ! 
Weep  not  when  the  old  and  hoary  head 
Sinks  to  repose  among  the  peaceful  dead. 
Who  weeps  for  sorrow  when  the  ripened  corn, 
In  golden  sheaves,  is  to  the  garner  borne  ? — 
When  the  slow  laden  wains  all  homeward  come, 
And  joyous  reapers  sing  their  harvest-home  ? 
So,  when  the  life-long  troubles  of  the  blest 
At  length  are  o'er, 
The  Angels  gather  them  into  their  rest, 
For  evermore  I 


Weep  not,  Christian,  weep  not, 

Wipe  all  thy  tears  away  ! 
Those  who  leave  thee,  sleep  not 
Under  the  cold,  dull  clay ! 
Weep  not  for  the  Dead,  although  they  sleep ; 
And  we,  alone,  our  weary  way  shall  keep. 
They  are  asleep  in  Jesus  !     Their  repose 
Beckons  us  upward  through  this  world  of  woes. 


212  BLESSED  ARE  THE  DEAD. 

The  day  of  our  deliverance  is  at  hand ! 

With  thoughts  fixed  high  in  Heaven,  on  Earth  we  stand ; 

With  patience  wait  till  Angels  from  above 

Shall  ope  the  door, 
Nor  death  shall  part  our  souls  from  those  we  love, 

For  evermore ! 
1844. 


ON    MY    ORDINATION. 

TO  THE  DlACONATE,  JUNE  30,   1850. 


Of  life  and  lips  unclean  am  I, 
Who,  rashly  daring,  have  drawn  nigh 

To  do  Thy  work,  O  Lord. 
Trembling  before  Thy  throne  I  stand, 
Unfit  to  take  Thy  work  in  hand, 

Or  preach  Thy  Word. 

Why  came  I  hither  ?    Didst  not  Thou 
First  lead  me  to  assume  the  vow, 

And  nurse  the  growing  thought  ? 
If  that  were  not  Thy  dread  command 
That  called  me  in  Thy  ranks  to  stand, 
Yet  slay  me  not ! 

Set  me  my  task,  O  Lord  ;  make  known 
The  work  Thou  hast  for  me  alone 

To  do,  that  I  may  be 
Ready  to  do  it  with  my  might ! 
Then  let  me  bid  the  world  good-night, 
And  rest  in  Thee. 
1850. 


Co  S©2  <Hine- 


Hakd  is  the  ground  thou  hast,  my  Vine, 
Strange  is  the  soil  where  thou  art  placed : 
This  is  not,  here,  thy  native  home, 

Yet  run  not  all  to  waste ! 
Some  few  though  slender  clusters  rear, 
For  love  of  Him  who  plants  thee  here : 

Thus  answered  be  His  pain. 

Nor  all  His  labor  vain. 


A  hollow  rock  behind  thee  stands, 

That  shields  thee  from  the  northern  storm,- 

Into  the  bosom  of  thy  leaves 

Gathers  the  sunshine  warm. 
Along  thy  trellis-frame  are  trained 
The  tender  shoots  thy  growth  has  gained : 

Thus  strengthened  may  they  rise 

Up  tow'rd  the  sunny  skies. 


Then  drink  the  dews  of  heaven,  my  Vine, 
Draw  from  the  earth  her  juices  rare, 
With  its  round-swelling  lusciousness 
Thy  purple  burthen  bear, 


TO  MY  VINE.  215 

Until  the  vintage  days  draw  nigh ; 
Then  from  the  wine-press,  laden  high, 

The  ruddy  stream  shall  flow, 

To  cheer  the  heart  of  woe ! 

And  hast  thou  never  heard,  my  Soul, 

There  is  another,  nobler  Vine, 

Planted  by  God,  when  Time  was  young, 

In  blessed  Palestine  ? 
He  stretched  his  boughs  from  ocean  blue, 
His  branches  to  the  river  grew ; 

Now  to  the  wide  world's  ends 

Their  woven  shade  extends. 

Placed  in  a  thirsty,  barren  land, 
Yet  of  this  Vine,  my  Soul,  art  thou, 
Like  all  thy  brother  Christian  men, 

A  young  and  tender  bough  : 
Sublime  thy  Rock  behind  thee  towers, 
He  shields  thee  from  the  storm,  and  showers 

The  sunshine  of  His  grace 

Upon  thy  up-turned  face. 

Nor  do  His  boughs  untended  droop, 
Nor  idly  in  the  breezes  swing, 
Nor  their  blind  tendrils  feel  in  vain 

For  strength  where  they  may  cling. 
For  lo !  the  Church,  and  brethren  dear, 
Parents,  and  priests,  and  angels  near, 

(A  wondrous  frame-work)  stand 

Among  His  chosen  band. 


216  TO  MY  VINE. 

And  steady,  from  the  parent  stem, 

The  life-bestowing  current  flows ; 

And  under  all,  with  Father's  love, 
And  more  than  Mother's  woes, 

The  "  everlasting  arms  "  are  spread ; 

While  dewy  clouds  roll  overhead, 
And  leave  the  barren  plain 
Soft  with  the  drops  of  rain. 

Then  deep  drink  in  the  dews  of  Heaven, 
Grow  'neath  the  nurture  of  His  hand, 
That  when,  at  His  high  nuptial  feast 

The  Lamb  of  God  shall  stand, 
And,  with  his  white-robed  Bride  Divine, 
Shall  drink  anew  His  spousal  wine, 
Thy  Life-blood  may  be  poured 
In  the  chalice  of  thy  Lord  ! 

1844. 


alone. 


I  walked  the  silent  wood  alone, 

A  low  breeze  murmured  by; 
I  thought  upon  God's  only  Son, 

Who  left  His  Throne  on  high, 
Moved  by  a  love  divine  and  true, 
Our  flesh  to  take,  our  souls  renew. 

I  thought  upon  that  desert  drear, — 

The  fainting  footsteps  slow, 
The  tempting  fiend  forever  near, 

The  hunger,  thirst,  and  woe ; 
The  calm  reproof,  the  patient  faith, 
That  shamed  the  king  of  sin  and  death. 

I  thought  upon  that  garden  still, 
The  blood-drops  falling  there, 

The  sleeping  friends,  the  moonlight  chill, 
The  agony  of  prayer : — 

"  The  wine-press  must  I  tread  alone  ? 

My  Father,  let  Thy  Will  be  done !  " 

I  thought  upon  the  Judgment  Hall, 
Where  the  meek  Victim  stood, 

While  rulers,  kings,  priests,  people,  all, 
Were  clamoring  for  His  Blood ; 
10 


218  ALONE. 

And  loud  and  fierce  rang  out  the  cry, 
To  crucify ! — To  crucify ! 

I  thought  upon  that  steep  ascent, 

Where,  in  the  early  mora, 
Bearing  His  Cross,  the  Saviour  went, 

Scourged,  bleeding,  crowned  with  thorn ; 
"While  cruel  scorners  mocked  His  pain, 
And  women  wrung  their  hands  in  vain. 

I  thought  upon  that  lofty  hill, 

Where,  lifted  up  on  high, 
Suffering  His  Heavenly  Father's  Will, 

The  Lamb  was  left,  to  die ; 
Even  of  His  Father's  love  bereft, — 
Alone, — that  suffering  Lamb  was  left. 

The  wine-press  Thou  hast  trod  alone, 

O  Lamb  of  God,  for  me ; 
And  to  my  spirit  thou  hast  shown 

How  I  must  follow  Thee : 
Of  human  love  to  mourn  the  loss, 
And,  all  alone,  to  bear  Thy  cross. 

Give  me  Thy  Spirit,  gracious  Lord ; 

Thy  patience,  strong  and  still ; 
And  faith,  to  magnify  Thy  Word  ; 

And  love,  to  do  Thy  Will : 

So,  when  I  come  before  Thy  Throne, 

I  never  more  must  walk  alone ! 

S.  E.  H. 
1863. 


Cbe  %\m. 


Dark  is  the  moonless  earth  at  dead  of  night. 
Over  its  vast  expanse 
Rise  rugged  cliff  and  mountain  height. 
At  their  feet  yawn  huge  chasms,  whose  depths  profound 

Defy  the  keenest  glance ; 
And  forests  hang  their  gloom  o'er  treacherous  ground, 
Where  dragons  lurk  or  prowling  beasts  of  prey  ; 
Or,  bred  by  marshes'  stagnant  air, 
The  dancing  wild-fires  play, 
And  lure  the  traveller's  feet  to  ruin  unaware. 

Nor  paths  are  seen, 
While  every  groping  step  may  plunge  him  down 
Some  dark  ravine ; 
And  o'er  his  unprotected  head, 
With  fury  dread, 
Storms  burst,  winds  shriek,  and  thunders  roll, 
Whose  mighty  voices  drown 
All  other  sounds,  shaking  the  earth  and  sky. 
Dark  horrors  thrill  his  soul ; 


220  THE    SUN. 

Quick  pants  his  trembling  breath ; 
His  lightless  pathway  seems  to  lie 
Under  the  quivering  wings  of  sudden  Death. 


Behold  the  rising  Sun ! 
The  gloomy  mountains  melt  in  tender  blue. 

Scarce  is  the  dawn  begun, 
When  in  the  forest,  rings  its  matin  song. 
The  leaves  are  glancing  in  the  light,  and,  through 

The  vistas  opening  all  along, 
Dim  distant  lakes  and  islands  meet  the  view. 

The  mighty  monarch's  rays 
Pierce  through  the  lowering  fragments  of  the  storm ; 
When,  kindling  with  a  bright  reflected  blaze, 
Away  on  breezy  wings 
They  fly,  in  quaint  fantastic  form, 
Like  living  things 
Of  golden  plumage,  or  of  rosy  hue, 
Or  snowy  white ;  and  side  by  side, 
Like  peaceful  doves,  they  glide 
Along  the  welkin  blue. 
Or,  when  the  sullen  storm-clouds  hold 
In  purple  phalanx  their  retreating  march, 
His  brilliant  beams  build  on  their  latest  fold 
The  love-born  arch. 
He  filleth  Nature's  lap  with  light. 
He  brings  the  tender  flowers  to  birth, 
And  herbs,  and  shrubs,  and  trees  of  portly  girth : 
Upward,  with  wondrous  skill  and  subtle  might, 
He  draws  their  living  sap ; 


THE  SUN,  221 

Through  stem  and  twig  and  leaf  and  opening  bloom, 
Stores  their  deep  cups  with  sweetness  and  perfume ; 
Covers  the  blushing  fruit  with  downy  nap, 

And  with  his  warmth  he  feeds 
To  full  and  pregnant  strength  their  life-inclosing  seeds. 

In  times  of  dearth, 
When  field  and  forest  droop,  all  parched  and  brown, 
He  from  the  thirsty  earth 
Id  sultry  hours 
Draws  the  thin  vapors,  and  then  drops  them  down 

In  dewy  showers. 

He  lights  thy  path,  lone  traveller,  he  cheers 

Thy  steps,  and  banishes  thy  fears. 


These  are  his  works,  and  countless  beyond  these ; 

And  while  they  all  reveal 
The  deepest  uses  Nature  can  require, 
The  grateful  mind, 
With  daily  growing  zeal, 
Throughout  the  boundless  range  forever  sees 
Unending  forms  of  beauty  to  admire, 
And  may  for  evermore  new  raptures  feel, 
New  blessings  find. 
But  if,  with  naked  eye,  thou  raise 
Up  to  his  burning  orb  thy  daring  gaze, 
He  strikes  thee  blind ! 


Dark  is  the  godless  Earth 
To  him  who  wanders  in  its  mazy  wild 


222  THE  SUN. 

With  eye  unlightened  by  the  second  birth. 

High  thrones  and  powers  he  sees,  with  crime  defiled, 

And  at  their  feet 
Abysses  bottomless  of  guilt  and  woe 

Yawn  wide.     Near  by,  his  footsteps  meet 
Forests  of  old  corruptions,  wherein  lurk 
Fierce  beasts  of  prey,  that,  prowling  to  and  fro, 
Do  in  the  dark  their  deadly  work  : 
Fanatic  wild-fires,  glowing  bright 
Where  living  waters  have  no  strength  to  flow, 

And,  dancing  o'er  the  miry  slough, 
With  baleful  influence,  like  comets  hairy, 
They  lure  to  deeper,  darker  night 
The  poor  unwary. 
Nor  rightful  paths  are  seen ; 
But  ever  close  on  either  hand  are  found 
Pitfalls,  and  snares,  and  dens  obscene, 
Where,  underground, 
Whole  broods  of  vices  hide  their  filth  away, 
To  shun  the  eye  of  day. 
And  wars  burst  forth,  with  cannon  roar 
And  falchion-stroke ; 
Battalions  charge,  and  fall  to  rise  no  more ; 

Shouts,  shrieks  and  groans,  and  curses  high 
Mix  with  the  thundering  hoofs  of  cavalry  ; 
While  all  unheeded,  through  the  battle  smoke, 
Rise  up,  in  naked  hosts, 
The  silent  ghosts ! 
Read  on  their  ghastly  corpses,  pale  and  gory, 
The  price  of  glory ! 


THE  SUN.  223 

Oh,  Earth!  Earth!  Earth!  hast  thou  no  Friend? 
Will  this  thy  night  of  horrors  never  end  ? 

Behold  the  Rising  Sun  ! 
The  Sun  of  Righteousness,  who  brings 
The  morning  dawn 
With  light  and  life  and  healing  in  His  wings ! 
As  in  His  conquering  might  He  marches  on, 
Adown  the  mountains  stream  His  glorious  rays, 

Piercing  the  clouds  of  war, 
That  roll  their  curtains  up  as  He  appears, 

And  shrink  before  His  blaze : 
While  thunders,  storms  and  night  are  scattered  far, 
And  hopes,  like  rainbows,  beam  'mid  falling  tears. 

He  filleth  Earth  with  light ; 
And,  from  its  earliest  birth,  the  tender  soul 

Drinks  in  His  outpoured  love, 
With  ever-growing  strength  and  new  delight. 
Throughout  the  whole 
Of  life's  appointed  term, 
His  spiritual  warmth,  with  wondrous  powert 

Soft  beaming  from  above, 
Sustains  from  bud  to  leaf  the  tender  germ, — 

From  leaf  to  flower, 
From  flower  to  perfect  fruit  He  makes  it  grow : 

Nor  only  so, 
But  still,  with  holy  seed,  from  sire  to  son, 
The  stream  of  heavenly  love  flows  on. 

When,  in  this  weary  world  of  sin  and  woe, 
The  soldier  quails  before  his  ghostly  foe, 


224  THE  SUN. 

Faints  in  the  fight  for  his  eternal  crown, 

And  Faith  can  see  no  more  Heaven's  shining  towers : 

Prayer,  like  an  unseen  vapor,  flies  aloft, 

And  soon  the  answering  times  of  soft 
And  sweet  refreshing  from  the  Lord  drop  down 
Upon  the  panting  soul  in  dewy  showers. 
He  is  about  thy  path,  about  thy  bed, 

And  though  thy  journey  lie 
Through  dangers  dread, 
Through  rivers  of  deep  waters  rolling  high, 

Through  pestilential  breaths, 
Through  snares,  fires,  sorrows,  and  ten  thousand  deaths, 
They  shall  not  hurt  thee  nor  come  nigh  thy  head ; 

For  He  hath  said : 
"Lo!  I  am  with  thee ;  be  not  thou  afraid." 


These  are  His  works ;  and  countless  worlds  beside 
Combine  to  swell  the  immeasurable  tide. 

Here  mayest  thou  see 
The  deepest  love,  truth,  grace  and  mercy  free, 

For  man  unite, 
And  all  with  pure  and  heavenly  beauty  bright. 
Here  mayest  thou  study  evermore 
With  heart  and  soul  and  mind, — 
Be  filled  with  raptures  never  felt  before, 
And  ever  find  new  cause  to  worship  and  adore. 

Thus  shalt  thou  find 
Life  in  the  Light,  of  Heaven,  not  death  and  pain. 
But  if,  with  naked  eye  profane, 
Thou  proudly  raise 


THE  SUN.  225 

Up  to  the  Eternal  Light  thy  daring  gaze, 
He  strikes  thee  blind ! 


Canst  thou  by  searching  find  out  Deity  ? 
The  fringes  of  His  robe  suffice  for  thee  ! 
He  is  Tile  Lord  ; 
And  through  His  Holy  Word, 
As  through  a  glass,  hath  bid  thee  look  on  HrM : 
A  glass  with  solemn  shadows  dark  and  dim, 
"With  wondrous  type  and  mystery  profound, 
Beyond  poor  human  reason's  utmost  bound, — 
"With  symbols,  signs  and  prophets'  song  sublime, 
That  chants  the  ending  from  the  birth  of  time : 
Through  this  behold  thy  Saviour  ;  this  supplies 
A  mystic  twilight,  meet  for  feeble  eyes. 
See  how  his  tender  love  obscures  the  blaze 

That  else  would  blast  thy  mortal  gaze ! 
Yet  not  forever  darkling  shall  thy  sight 
Gaze  on  His  glory  who  is  Light  of  Light  : 
Soon  over  thee  the  wings  of  Death  shall  pass, 
And  brush  these  earth-born  shadows  from  the  glass ; 

Then  face  to  face,  and  eye  to  eye, 
In  Heaven  thou  shalt  behold  the  Lord  of  Earth  and  Sky. 

1846. 


®eet)g< 


When  the  third  morning  of  Creation  shone, 
And  from  the  naked  earth 
Rose  the  green  herb,  and  grass,  and  branching  tree  full- 
grown, 

'Twas  thus  decree'd 
By  the  Eternal  Mind 
And  Voice  of  God  that  called  them  into  birth, 
That  they  should  grow : 
"  The  green  herb  yielding  seed, 
The  fruit-tree  yielding  fruit  after  his  kind, 
Whose  seed  is  in  itself  upon  the  earth : 
And  it  was  so." 


Thus  sprang  that  living  verdure  into  being, 

Whose  annual  generations  reach 
Beyond  the  birth  of  Adam.     All  agreeing, 
A  lesson  of  obedience  do  they  teach  ; 
Obedience  to  the  Voice  that  brought  them  forth : 
For,  whether  all  alone  they  grow. 
Scattered  by  breezes  to  and  fro, 
Or,  side  by  side, 
They  cover  fields  or  spread  in  forests  wide, 
Or  struggle  heavenward  in  the  frozen  North, 


SEEDS.  227 

Or  clothe  in  endless  green  the  burning  Line ; 
From  age  to  age,  with  faith  that  never  sleeps, 
The  vegetable  world  unbroken  keeps 
That  Law  Divine. 

But  never  to  the  curio  as  eye 
Do  they  unfold  their  hidden  mystery ; 

Nor  any  seed  e'er  tells 
How,  in  itself,  its  life  mysterious  dwells. 
While  in  thy  hand,  or  in  the  light  of  day, 

It  seems  an  inert  thing, 
All  dry  and  dead,  nor  life  nor  motion  shows 
Within  its  rounded  ring : 
But  bury  it  away 
Down  in  the  dark  damp  earth, — it  dies  and  grows. 
The  blade  comes  first ; 
Soon  the  green  leaves  are  shown ; 
Then  buds  appear,  that  shortly  burst, 
And  opening  show  the  tinted  flowers  full-blown, 
Of  purple,  white,  yellow  or  orange  hue, 

Of  pink  or  bright  carnation, 
Or  velvet  brown,  deep  red,  or  purer  blue. 
All  this  is  beauteous  preparation ; 
But  now,  at  length, 
And  all  unseen, 
The  plant  mature  puts  forth  its  chiefest  strength. 

Within  the  pod  of  tender  green, 
Or  stronger  sphere  o'ertopped  with  crown  imperial, 

Under  the  shag-bark's  russet  suit, 
Or  veiled  'neath  gauzy  wings  for  flight  aerial, 
Deep  in  the  swelling  womb  of  pulpy  fruit, 


228  SEEDS. 

Or  housed  within  the  rugged  cone, 
Or  tough-ribbed  shell,  or  hollow-chambered  stone ; 
The  plant,  with  patient  care 
And  instinct  rare, 
Gathers  from  every  fibre  of  its  frame 

The  express  idea  of  the  same — 
Ideas  which,  like  those  within  the  brain, 
Seem  to  maintain 
A  certain  place, 
Yet  occupy  no  space : 
Slowly  with  sap  the  ripening  globes  it  feeds, 
And  in  the  germ  of  all  the  thousand  seeds 
Within  its  teeming  cup, 
Stores  its  own  image  up, 
Even  to  the  seed  wherein  that  image  lies; 
And  in  their  memories, 
With  wondrous  power,  stamps  both 
The  time  and  order  of  their  birth  and  growth. 

And  all  the  while  the  secret  cell, 
Where  this  mysterious  labor  is  perfecting, 

Is  guarded  well, 
By  prickly  beard  its  pointed  spears  erecting, 
Or  shielded  by  tough  rind, 

Or  tangled  furze, 
Or  else  entrenched  behind 
A  rampart  bristling  thick  with  barbed  burrs ; 
Or  stinging  thorns  do  guard  the  approach, 
Or  'tis  perchance  by  waxy  husk  defended, 

Lest  insect  foes  encroach 
Ere  Nature's  last  and  erreatest  work  is  ended. 


SEEDS.  22\) 

Life,  wondrous  Life,  hath  here 
Begotten  wondrous  Life,  yea  manifold, 

In  silence  dark,  and  secrecy ; 
And  these  heirs,  in  their  tiny  bosoms,  hold, 
The  hoarded  life-spring  of  another  year. 
And  yet  no  mortal  eye 
Hath  seen  the  mode,  nor  listening  car 

Hath  heard  the  story  told  ; 
While  boastful  Science,  like  the  mole, 
With  microscopic  eyes 
But  burrows  in  the  dark  and  cannot  rise 
To  see  the  ethereal  spirit  that  informs  the  whole. 

Here  is  the  grand  climacteric 
Of  this  their  annual  life.     And  now  for  them 
No  more  is  left  but  gradual  decay. 

The  shrunken  stem, 
Erewhile  so  vigorous  and  thick, 

In  time  gives  way, 
And  drops  the  fruit  to  earth, 
Again  to  die ;  and  dying,  to  bring  forth 
Another  generation  to  the  birth. 
Soon  fade  the  leaves  to  shades  of  lifeless  brown ; 
Awhile  they  shiver  in  the  frosty  air, 

Then  flutter  down 

To  rise  no  more, 
Leaving  the  face  of  Nature  drear  and  bare : 

And  all  is  o'er ! 

A  Sower  went  forth  to  sow 
The  field  wherein  he  sowed, 


230  SEEDS. 

The  wayward  heart  of  man  while  here  below ; 

The  Seed,  the  Word  of  God. 
That  living  Word,— which,  to  the  worldly  eye, 
Or  on  the  cold  unfeeling  tongue, 
Long  powerless  and  dead 
Appears  to  lie, 
Like  bread 
For  naught  upon  the  waters  flung, — 
Will,  when  the  heart  is  soft  and  young, 
Or  its  tough  soil  is  broken  up  by  woe, 

Or  by  sharp  anguish  wrung, 
Take  root ;  and  soon  the  tender  fibres  grow, 
Spreading  like  silvery  threads  in  every  part, 
Until  their  heavenly  net-work  fills  the  wounded  heart. 


Repentance  first  appears, 
Scarce  rising  from  the  ground  through  humble 
fear. 
Drying  her  bitter  tears, 
Soon  child -like  Faith,  with  vision  clear, 
Beholds  things  yet  unseen  by  mortal  eye. 
Hope  like  the  bud  of  promise  swells. 
And  crowning  Charity 
Openeth  like  the  flower  in  perfect  bloom, 
Within  whose  bosom  are  deep  wells 
Of  sweets,  where  not  in  vain  the  hungry  calls, 
Wherein  the  thirsty  findeth  drink, 
And  round  the  brink 
The  dew  of  gentle  pity  softly  falls ; 
While  universal  love,  like  rich  perfume, 


SEEDS.  231 

For  ever  breathing  forth, 
Rises  to  heaven,  and  floats  along  the  earth. 

But  yet  a  higher  effort  of  the  soul 
Is  needed  to  impart 
The  good  seed  to  another  heart. 
For  this  great  end,  the  whole 
Of  grace  and  nourishment  and  power  divine 
Is  drawn  to  secret  action ;  while  without — 

A  faithful  sign 
Of  love — the  heart  is  warded  all  about 
With  trials  and  afflictions  sore ; 
Heart-weariness  we  feel,  and  pain  ; 
Gaunt  Poverty,  with  all  his  hungry  train ; 
And  o'er  and  o'er 
Our  hopes  are  crushed,  our  longings  blighted; 
Friends  that  once  loved,  now  love  no  more  ; 
Envy  and  malice,  in  close  league  united, 

Sting  with  envenomed  tongues  our  name, 
And  feel  no  shame ; 
Diseases,  slow  or  sudden,  waste  the  frame, 

And  where  they  go  before, 
Death  follows  after,  knocking  at  the  door, 

Till,  one  by  one,  are  all 
The  loved  ones  carried  forth  to  meet  the  call. 

Nor  are  we  ever  left 
Alone  with  happiness,  while  here  below  ; 

Nor  are  our  feeble  souls  bereft 
Of  all  the  aids  of  pain  and  grief  and  woe, 
That  wean  our  lingering  hearts  away 
From  glittering  dust  and  baubles  of  a  day. 


232  SEEDS. 

We  need  this  rough  and  thorny  hedge 
To  keep  the  base  defiling  world  aloof, 
Lest  our  bright  Spirit-sword,  of  heavenly  proof, 
Should  cloud  its  beaming  blade,  or  blunt  its  edge. 

Nor  all  alike  can  sow 
The  holy  seed :  some,  like  a  fruitful  tree, 
May  live  to  see 
The  germs  they  scatter  bud  and  grow, 

Till  far  and  wide,  all  round, 
The  rising  forests  shade  the  fertile  ground. 

Others,  like  annuals  frail, 

At  earlier  ages  fail, 
Die  ere  they  conquer  in  the  fruitless  strife, 
Yet  dying,  quicken  some  loved  soul  to  life. 

Thus  from  the  time 
When  first  that  Sower  went  forth  to  sow, 
In  every  age,  in  every  clime, 
The  Holy  Seed  hath  grown,  and  still  doth  grow. 
Each  generation  as  it  rose,  receiving 
The  precious  germs  from  those  that  went  before, 
Planted  them  deep  in  hearts  believing ; 
While  these  the  burthen  bore 
To  sons  and  daughters,  who  again  brought  forth 
Another  generation  to  the  birth. 
And  yet  no  eye  hath  seen,  nor  listening  ear 
Hath  heard,  nor  mortal  mind 
Can  comprehend  that  life-birth  here. 
'Tis  like  the  wind, 


SEEDS.  233 

That  where  it  listeth,  bloweth ; 
We  hear  the  sound  thereof,  yet  no  man  knoweth 
Whence  it  hath  come,  or  whitherward  it  goeth. 

Thus  it  hath  been,  and  still  shall  be, 
Till  He  that  sowed  the  seed  again  shall  come, 
And  Angel-reapers,  both  from  land  and  sea, 
Gather  the  harvest  home ! 


Another  Sower,  at  the  time 
When  righteous  Abel  fell,  went  forth  to  sow. 
And,  from  the  world's  young  prime 
Even  until  now, 
His  never-resting  hand  hath  sown 
Seed  for  an  harvest  not  his  own. 
Charnels  and  catacombs,  church-yards  and  graves 

He  fills ;  nor  only  these, 
But  on  all  hills,  vales,  plains  and  mountains  high, 
Or  inland  far,  or  washed  by  ocean-waves, 

He  strews  the  ripened  grain ; 
While,  buried  in  the  furrows  of  the  sea, 
Deep  down  the  bosom  of  the  sounding  main, 
His  countless  myriads  lie. 

But  are  not  these  all  dead  f 
How  can  they  then 

Be  made  to  rise  again  ? 
Long  before  Egypt's  days  of  glory  fled, — 

And  when  her  swarthy  sons 
Embalmed  for  burial,  in  the  fond  conceit 

That  so  their  loved  ones 


234  SEEDS, 

All  incorrupt  might  slumber, 
Till  they  should  rise  to  meet 
Their  final  judgment,  when  the  mystic  number 
Of  this  world's  age  should  be  complete, — 

A  single  corn  of  wheat, 
Grown  in  her  Nile-enriched  glebes, 
Was  in  a  dead  man's  spicy  shroud  enclosed, 
And  buried  in  the  catacombs  of  Thebes ; 

There  undisturbed  reposed, 
Till  after  thrice  a  thousand  years  had  flown, 
As  if  arisen  from  the  dead,  behold 

That  seed  was  disentombed  and  sown, 
And  grew,  and  brought  forth  fruit  an  hundred  fold. 

Now  shall  our  Father,  who,  in  love  for  all 
His  wondrous  works,  doth  mark  the  sparrow's  fall, 
Shall  He  remember  this  one  little  seed, 
That  its  frail  life  shall  be  for  ages  kept, 
And  perish  never : 
And  yet  hath  He  decreed 
That  the  marl's  body,  by  whose  side  it  slept, 
Shall  lie  forgotten  in  the  bonds  of  Death  forever  ? 
Nay,  shall  His  hand  thus  clothe  the  grass, 
Whose  fading  glories  quickly  pass, 
And  not  much  more  clothe  us,  when  we, 
Though  mortal,  put  on  immortality  ? 

Soon  shall  the  trumpet  sound, 
Whose  piercing  note  proclaims  to  earth  and  ocean 
The  Spring-time  of  the  Dead. 


SEEDS.  235 

Then  shall  we  see 
These  mortal  seeds  of  immortality, 

No  longer  winter-bound 
By  that  corruption  wherein  they  were  sown, 
But  raised  incorrupt  to  life  and  motion. 

Forth  from  their  earthy  bed, 
Swift  as  the  light,  behold  them  high  upgrown ; 

They  lift  their  heads  to  heaven ;  their  leaves 
Glance  in  the  beams  from  Zion's  Temple  shed ; 
And  as  the  quickening  Spirit  gently  breathes, 
The  waving  harvest  bows  the  adoring  head. 

In  this  their  perfect  glory  clad, 
The  whole  round  world  and  all  that  it  contains 
Burst  forth  in  triumph  glad. 
Hills  nod  to  hills,  and  plains  to  plains 
Their  answering  salutation  fling ; 
For  now  the  praises  of  the  Lamb  employ 

New-tuned  voices ; 
The  swelling  chorus  bounds  from  lands  to  lands ; 

The  valleys  laugh  and  sing, 
The  sea  makes  merry  with  his  liquid  noises, 
Floods  clap  their  hands, 
And  hoary  mountains  leap  and  shout  aloud  for  joy ! 

1846. 


^partotos  in  ©aimer. 


Beead  on  the  stones  is  cast. 
'Tis  winter ;  and  the  stones  are  snowy  cold : 

Yet  fluttering  past 
From  leafless  trees,  the  sparrows,  young  and  old, 

Flock,  in  their  hunger,  to  be  fed ; 
And  on  the  cold  stones  find  their  daily  bread. 


Love,  with  a  liberal  hand, 
Throws  out  its  crumbs ;  then  suddenly  withdraws, 

Hidden  to  stand 
And  watch,  behind  the  window  curtain's  gauze, 

Lest  human  face,  too  nigh,  should  scare 
The  timid  birds  from  this  their  simple  fare. 


And  they  are  glad,  and  feed, 
With  eager  eye ;  and  live  on  daily  love, 

Yet  feel  none.     Greed 
And  passion  stir  their  little  breasts,  and  move 

To  bickering  wars  with  wing  and  bill : 
Yet  love  looks  smiling  on,  and  feeds  them  still. 


SPARROWS  IN  WINTER.  237 

Hard  is  this  world,  and  cold ; 
And  toil,  care,  woe,  and  sin,  are  everywhere. 

Yet  souls  untold 
Come,  from  above,  to  find  their  sustenance  here ; 

And,  midst  the  stony  drought  forlorn, 
Find  manna  waiting  for  them  every  morn. 

God  gives  that  Bread  from  Heaven : 
And  yet  His  Presence  not  in  glorious  blaze 

Of  Fire  is  given  ; 
But  hidden  under  Veils,  lest  the  bright  rays 

Of  awful  light  and  beauty  here 
Consume  the  sinful  soul  with  deadly  fear. 

Men  feed,  and  they  are  glad. 
They  see  not  God,  the  Unseen ;  and  they  turn, 

With  envy  mad, 
And  o'er  the  very  Gifts  of  Love,  they  burn. 
Yet,  fighting,  feed,  and  grow,  and  will : 
And  patient  God  sees,  loves,  and  feeds  them  still. 

1874. 


harebell  lBlue. 


Harebell  blue,  Harebell  blue, — 
Slender,  tender,  trembling  yet  true, — 
Let  me  search  thee  thoughtfully, 
And  say  what  there  mine  eye  may  see. 

Central  pistil  stands  alone, 
Branching  out,  threefold,  from  one ; 
Petals  five,  still  pointing  down, 
Joined  in  one  blue,  expanding  crown ; 
Spikelets  five  outside  are  seen, 
One  for  each  petal, — spikelets  green; 
While  inside,  low  down  in  the  cup, 
Five  crouching  stamens,  looking  up, — 
Looking  up,  yet  crouching  down, 
Shrunken  and  pale,  as  if  half  grown, — 
Twisted  and  tangled  in  helpless  case, 
Cling  around  the  pistil's  base. 
High  toward  heaven  thy  bell  is  swung ; 
Yet  toward  earth  its  mouth  is  hung. 
Thin  and  frail,  the  trembling  stem 
Scarce  bears  its  azure  diadem ; 
The  leaves  still  thinner,  and  so  few, 
Look  as  if  little  they  could  do : 


HAREBELL  BLUE.  239 

Yet  milky  juice,  with  constant  care, 
Fills  stern  and  leaflets  everywhere. 
Planted  in  the  rifted  rock, 
Laughing  thence  at  tempest  shock  ; 
Silently  waving,  to  and  fro, 
With  all  the  winds  that  breathe  or  blow : 
Sunshine,  rain,  and  air,  and  dew, — 
These  are  thy  life,  0  Harebell  blue ! 


Harebell  blue,  Harebell  blue, — 
Lowly,  holy,  faithful  and  true, — 
Would  that  the  world  had  eyes  to  see 
All  that  thy  silence  tells  to  me ! 


Centre  of  all  is  God  alone; — 
God,  Who  is  Threefold,  and  yet  One. 
Five  books  contain  the  one  Law  of  God ; 
And  His  commands,  "  exceeding  broad," 
Spring  living  from  the  lifeless  page, 
And  wider  grow,  from  youth  to  age. 
Five  are  the  piercing  Wounds,  that  bled 
When  Christ  kept  that  Law  in  our  stead  ; 
And  that  the  spikelets  five  are  green, 
In  this  the  Church's  growth  is  seen, 
For  those  five  streams  in  Christ  that  rise 
Water  all  God's  Paradise. 
Under  the  Law,  in  blank  dismay, 
Our  small  obedience  shrinks  away, 
Poor,  shriveled,  helpless,  crooked,  blind, 
Never  in  self  its  strength  to  find  : 


240  HAREBELL  BLUE. 

But  clinging  to  God's  Cross  alone, — 

The  Cross,  and  Him  Who  hangs  thereon. 

High  toward  Heaven  grace  lifts  the  head, 

Whither  our  Lord  the  way  hath  led : 

Yet  faith  itself  God  loves  to  see 

Downcast  in  humility. 

The  stem  and  leaves — our  hopes  and  prayers — 

How  faint  and  weak,  'mid  toils  and  cares ! 

Our  hopes,  how  feeble,  frail,  and  thin ! 

Our  prayers,  how  few  and  far  between ! 

Yet  still  God's  Word,  that  "milk  sincere," 

Fills  them  with  life-streams  everywhere ; — 

Yet  on  this  frail  stem  God  descends ; 

Thereon  He  hangeth  His  commands ; 

He  gives  us  Heaven's  own  changeless  hue, — 

Gives  us  His  Name,  and  Nature  too. 

And  faith  is  quiet,  meek,  and  still, 

As  harebell  on  the  rocky  hill. 

No  storm  can  wring  therefrom  complaints 

To  God,  as  from  a  soul  that  faints ; 

Nor  shrieks  nor  roarings,  such  as  rail 

When  forest  giants  fight  the  gale. 

And  bluebells  make  no  clangor  loud, 

To  wake  the  wonder  of  the  crowd, 

Or  draw  the  easy,  wandering  eye 

Of  every  curious  passer-by : 

Faith  simply  is  ;  and  soon  is  seen, 

Decking  the  Rock  with  blue  and  green. 


JESUS  is  our  Rock  and  King ; 
In  His  Clefts  our  fibres  cling. 


HAREBELL  BLUE.  241 

Faith,  our  root,  therein  abides ; 

Therein  the  Godhead's  power  resides  ; 

Therefrom  Christ's  streams  of  Manhood  flow, 

Bringing  new  birth  to  sons  of  woe. 

Planted  in  this  Eternal  Rock, 

Laughing  thence  at  tempest  shock, 

Our  whole  being  Love  so  fills, 

That  ever  it  moves,  trembles,  and  thrills, 

With  every  word,  with  every  breath, 

The  Spirit  breathes,  the  Spirit  saith. 

The  sunshine  of  God's  glorious  face ; 

The  double  rain  of  heavenly  grace ; 

The  searching  Spirit's  nightly  dew, 

That  steeps  the  dry  soul  through  and  through ; 

The  air,  whose  gentle  kiss  of  love 

Gives  food  that  others  know  not  of: 

These  are  the  life  of  all  below 

That  in  our  Rock  do  live  and  grow 


Such  are  the  thoughts  that  come,  whene'er 
I  see  thee  in  the  Summer  air ; 
And,  for  these  teachings  deep  and  true, 
I  love  thee  well,  O  Harebell  blue  1 

1870. 

11 


€&e  J£)ig&  Brtflge  at  ©arlem, 

Over  which  the  Aqueduct  conveys  the  Croton  Water  into 

the  City  of  New  York. 


How  still  and  motionless ! 
In  pier  and  arch  the  massive  marble  stands, 

Unmoving  as  the  mountains  blue 

That  from  afar  rise  up  and  bless, 
In  silence,  all  the  breadth  of  lower  lands : 

While  the  fresh  grass,  in  circle  true, 
Is  seen 
Enwrapping  the  round  mound  in  graveyard  green. 

Marble,  and  turf,  and  silence  drear, — 
Surely  the  monuments  of  Death  are  here ! 

Alas! 
What  change  surprising 
From  that  brief  transient  time  when  this  great  mass, 

This  mighty  work,  was  slow  uprising ! 
Then,  from  the  early  dawn  to  sunset  hour, 
Rang  the  loud  noises  of  constructive  power. 
The  cries  of  busy  men,  in  active  crowd, 


THE  HIGH  BRIDGE  AT  HARLEM.  243 

Incessant  to  their  fellows  shouting  aloud ; 
The  creaking  of  huge  derricks,  and  the  click 
Of  masons1  tools  shaping  the  stone  and  brick : — 
These  sounds  of  strenuous  men 
In  labor  free, 
Then  waked  the  echoes  of  this  lonely  glen. 

Nor  could  the  eye  then  see 
The  beauty  of  the  pier,  nor  could  observe 
The  circling  arch  fulfil  its  shapely  curve 
Aright. 
Rough  scaffold  framework  hid  from  sight 
The  mighty  pier,  and  timber  centerings 
Covered  the  arch  with  things 
Of  meaner  worth,  and  doomed,  at  some  near  day, 
To  swift  decay  : 
So  that  no  part  of  the  great  plan 
Could  meet  the  eye  of  man. 
And  all  the  while  no  drop  of  water  ran 

Through  all  its  growing  bulk,  although 
For  that,  and  that  alone,  its  bulk  was  made  to  grow. 

But  when,  at  length,  complete  in  grace 
The  perfect  structure  stands ; — 
When  every  stone,  lifted  by  skilful  hands 
High  o'er  the  watery  plain, 
Fills  its  appointed  place ; — 
When  the  full  round  of  the  brick  main, 
From  side  to  side, 
Leads  its  straight  channel  for  the  crystal  tide ; — 
When  grassy  turf  above  learns  to  enfold 
Its  rounded  form  against  the  wintry  cold, 


244  THE  HIGH  BRIDGE  AT  HARLEM. 

And  all  is  ready : 
Behold,  how  marvellous  the  range 

Of  sudden  change ! 
Down  drop  the  dingy  lines  unsteady 
Of  meaner  things.     The  centerings  yield,  and  show 

The  marble  arch  below. 
The  rough,  coarse  framings  of  the  scaffolds  fall, 

Uncovering  the  ashlar  wall. 
The  strenuous  noises  of  the  workmen  cease, 
In  silence  and  deep  peace. 
The  transient  ugliness,  that  marred 
While  yet  it  builded,  stands  no  more  on  guard ; 

But  now,  in  humble  duty, 
Gives  place  to  perfect  and  enduring  beauty : 
While,  under  the  sod, 
For  the  first  time,  the  crystal  flood — 
To  the  vast  city  a  life-giving  river — 

Flows  through,  and  flows  forever. 

This  solid  mass  from  Silence  sprung, 
And  into  Silence  goes ; — 
Finding  its  sole  true  work  in  its  repose. 
Not  by  the  babbling  tongue 
Of  coarser,  grosser  human-kind 
Was  it  created ;  but  by  the  silent  mind 
Of  the  skilled  Architect.     Its  plan  was  wrought 

Of  him  who  brought 
The  fair  ideal,  in  its  every  part, 

By  his  high  art, 
To  full  perfection  in  his  noiseless  thought, 
While  yet  the  noises  of  the  public  mart — 


THE  HIGH  BRIDGE  AT  HARLEM.  245 

The  world  of  gross  construction — 
Were  all  unheard. 
The  spoken  word — 
That  bridge  leading  from  thought  to  full  produc- 
tion ; — 
The  formal  contract  firm ; — and  then 
The  marshalling  of  men, 
The  pick,  the  spade,  the  thundering  blast  of  rocks, 
The  quarrying  of  huge  blocks ; — 
The  steady  strain 
Of  human  and  mechanic  force,  combined 
With  might  and  main, 
Muscle  and  mind ; — 
The  masons1  skill  that  poises 

Aloft  in  air 
Enormous  weights  of  stone, 
And  there 
Alone 
Fixes  their  new  aerial  station ; — 
The  tools  that  cut  and  bore,  the  wheels  that  grind ; — 

Yea,  all  the  innumerable  noises, 
The  cries  that  usher  in  some  new  creation 
To  its  full  birth 
Here  in  the  Earth  : 
All  these  had  no  part 
In  the  silent  thought  of  that  high  art, 
That  spirit  unseen — so  oft  unheeded — 
From  which  alone  this  mighty  work  proceeded. 

But  though  from  silence  thus  the  idea  springs, 
Yet  ever  barren  had  it  been  on  earth, 


246  THE  HIGH  BRIDGE  AT  HARLEM. 

Nor  ever  known  a  birth, 
Had  not  these  lower  noises,  and  the  things 

That  caused  them,  come  to  clothe 
The  abstract  thought  in  form  and  substance  both. 
But  even  so, 
Although 
So  needful  is  the  process  of  erection, 

These  outer  things  do  form 
No  real,  integral  part  of  the  work's  perfection, 
Which  in  the  spirit  hath  its  germ  or  norm. 

The  scaffold  rough,  though  near, 
Yet  enters  not 
With  woody  fibres,  destined  soon  to  rot, 
Into  the  substance  of  the  marble  pier, 

Which,  by  its  help,  arose. 
In  the  stone  arch  no  atom  is  enfolded 
Of  the  centering  on  which  its  curve  was  moulded; 

For  every  builder  knows 
Such  mixture  strange  would  be  its  own  undoing, 
And  overwhelm  the  mighty  work  with  ruin. 

So  Man's  true  life  can  find 
Its  fountain  of  eternal  birth, 

Not  on  the  earth, 
But  only  in  the  Eternal  Mind 
Of  G-OD.     From  that  Eternity, 
Silent  to  us, 
Comes  all  that  we  can  see 
Or  know  of  life :  and  thus, 
That  which  is  silent  spirit,  antedates 
All  consciousness  of  earthly  things  and  states. 


THE  HIGH  BRIDGE  AT  HARLEM.  247 

But  when  God's  silence  into  human  speech 
Is  uttered,  then,  mingled  with  woe  and  sin, 
The  transient  noises  of  the  earth  begin. 

Birth  is  proclaimed, 
In  the  very  act,  by  inarticulate  cries. 
Sorrows  and  struggles  reach 
Through  all  our  lives,  and  every  part  is  shamed 
By  what  is  seen, 
In  God's  most  holy  eyes, 
To  be  unclean. 
For,  if  the  cloudless  heavens  are  not 

Clean  in  His  sight, 
And  if  the  very  Angels  holy 

He  charge  with  folly : 
How  shall  our  mortal  life  be  brought 

To  perfectness  so  bright, 
That  it  may  dare  encounter  nigh 
The  lightning  glance  of  that  All-seeing  Eye  ? 

Man  must  grow : 
And  that  growth  must  be  slow. 
Little  by  little,  day  by  day, 
And  hour  by  hour,  in  work  or  play, 
The  fabric  of  a  life  arises. 
Its  tame  monotonies,  its  sharp  surprises, 
Its  routine  weary,  and  its  sudden  crises, — 
These  come  to  all. 
Passion  and  pride  breed  strife 
From  trivial  friction  of  the  daily  life. 
And  often,  in  that  daily  life,  befall 
Misunderstandings  and  mistakes, 


248  THE  HIGH  BRIDGE  AT  HARLEM. 

Prejudice,  hatred,  rivalry,  and  scorn, 

That  thrust  the  poisoned  thorn 
Of  slander  into  the  heart :  which  breaks 
With  broken  love.    The  partisan,  whose  zeal 

Revels  in  shameless  lies, 
Inflames  at  length  the  maddened  multitude, 

Till,  in  its  rage,  it  rise, 
And  fight  its  battles  out  with  deadly  steel, 
Confused  noise,  and  garments  rolled  in  blood. 
Ten  thousand  are  the  tools,  with  keenest  edge, 
That  cut  the  stone,  rough  from  its  rocky  ledge, 

Into  the  polished  form  it  takes, 
Before  a  part  of  the  finished  work  it  makes. 
And  mighty  sword-blows,  oft,  alone 
Can  carve  the  stubborn  heart  of  stone. 
The  close  network  of  circumstance, 
Of  race,  and  nation,  time,  and  chance, 
Of  parentage,  and  marriage,  husbands,  wives, 

Or  children,  or  companions, — all 
The  innumerable  things  or  great  or  small, 
That  shape  men's  lives 
While  they  on  earth  abide, 
Showing  a  transient  truth  that  men  may  get 
Some  knowledge  of,  while  these  same  things  do 

hide 

Substance  which  God  alone  can  see  as  yet : — 

Without  these  transient  things,  no  human  life 

On  earth  can  be  upbuilded. 

None  are  shielded 

From  struggle  and  from  sin,  from  woe  and  strife. 

These  all  men  see : 


TEE  HIGH  BRIDGE  AT  HARLEM.  249 

And  until  life  is  ended, 
They  see  but  little  else,  however  splendid 
The  inner  and  enduring  house  may  be. 

And  that  enduring  inner  house,  that  grows 
Within  the  grossness  of  this  world  of  ours, 
What  is  it  in  itself?    Who  knows ? 
What  are  its  powers  ? 

It  is  what  we  call  character : 
That  is,  the  man  himself, — apart 
From  all  the  accidents,  the  stress,  and  stir, 
And  many-sided  strife, 
Which,  from  the  start, 
Have  helped  to  mould  and  form  that  inner  life. 
As  each  is  born  alone, 
And  each  must  die  alone, 
So  each  one  really  lives  alone, 
And  builds  alone. 
Into  the  still  and  awful  solitude 
Of  the  human  soul, 
Who  can  intrude  ? 
Until  the  whole 
Upbuilding  of  that  inner  house  is  done, 
From  the  foundation  to  the  topmost  stone, 
No  eye  looks  on, 
But  the  Eye  of  God  alone. 
The  circumstance,  that  formed  the  man 
'Mid  struggles  and  sharp  pains, 
Passes  away :  the  Man  himself  remains. 
The  chisel  keen,  that  ran 


250  THE  HIGH  BRIDGE  AT  HARLEM. 

With  biting  edge  over  the  shaping  stone, 
May  have  been  lost, 
Or  broken, 
Or  else  devoured  with  rust ; — 
Nay,  ev'n  the  skilful  man 
Who  wielded  it  may,  for  long  ages  gone, 
Have  been  an  handful  of  forgotten  dust : 
And  yet  the  carved  stone 

Remains,  alone. 
So  with  our  time  and  chance, 
Words  heard  or  spoken, 
Things  done  or  suffered,  failed  in,  or  attained, 
The  while  with  slow  advance 
Our  growth  is  gained : 
These  things  are  not,  what  yet  they  do  oetolcen. 
They  with  their  transient  forces, 
Wholly  external, 
Can  give  no  drop  to  swell  the  secret  sources 
Of  life  eternal ; 
Yet,  in  their  brief  and  passing  hour, 
They  have  the  power 
To  help,  to  form,  to  cherish, 

A  human  soul : 
And  that  shall  never  perish, 
While  endless  ages  roll ! 

But,  lo ! 
Death  comes ! 
To  us,  who  know, 
Angel  of  God  is  he. 
He  comes, — 


THE  HIGH  BRIDGE  AT  HARLEM.  251 

And  see ! 
With  one  touch  of  his  ice-cold  wings 
He  brushes  off  the  worn-out  scaffoldings, — 
The  coarse  and  worthless  things 
Of  time  and  sense ; 
And  God's  ideal, 
In  all  its  pure,  complete  magnificence, 
Stands  forth,  a  substance  real. 
Then  vulgar  noise  gives  place 
To  holy  silence.     In  that  hush  profound, 

The  transient  things  that  this  world  gave 
Lose  all  their  grace ; 
And,  like  leaves  dead, 
Fall  shivering  down  into  the  open  grave, 
And  there  are  buried 
Deep  in  the  cold  ground. 
The  ugliness  of  Time, 
All  suddenly  unbound, 
And  vanishing  at  a  breath, 
Unveils  the  beauty  of  Eternity 

In  all  its  spotless  prime. 
While  uuderneath 
The  bright  green  turf  which  here  we  see, 
And  know, 
As  Death, 
The  glorious  River 
Of  life,  true  Life,  now  first  begins  to  flow, 
And  flows  for  ever ! 

1882. 


i^pmns. 


JEEUSALEM,   MY  HOME. 


Jeeusalem,  my  Home, 

I  see  thy  walls  arise; 
Their  jasper  clear  and  sardine  stone 

Flash  radiance  through  the  skies. 

In  clouds  of  heaven  descending, 

With  angel  train  attending, 
Thy  gates  of  glistering  pearl  unfold 

On  streets  of  glassy  gold. 
No  sun  is  there,  no  day  or  night ; 
But,  built  of  seven-fold  splendors  bright, 
Thy  Temple  is  the  Light  of  Light, 

Jerusalem,  my  Home. 

Jerusalem,  my  Home, 

Where  shines  the  royal  Throne ; 
Each  king  casts  down  his  golden  crown 

Before  the  Lamb  thereon. 

Thence  flows  the  crystal  River, 

And,  flowing  on  for  ever, 
With  leaves  and  fruits,  on  either  hand, 

The  Tree  of  Life  shall  stand. 


HYMNS.  253 

In  blood-washed  robes,  all  white  and  fair, 
The  Lamb  shall  lead  His  chosen  there, 
While  clouds  of  incense  fill  thy  air, 
Jerusalem,  my  Home. 

Jerusalem,  my  Home, 

Where  saints  in  triumph  sing, 
While,  tuned  in  tones  of  golden  harps, 

Heaven's  boundless  arches  ring. 

No  more  in  tears  and  sighing 

Our  weak  hosannas  dying, 
But  alleluias  loud  and  high 

Roll  thundering  through  the  sky. 
One  chorus  thrills  their  countless  throngs ; 
Ten  thousand  times  ten  thousand  tongue9 
Fill  thee  with  overwhelming  songs, 

Jerusalem,  my  Home. 


Jerusalem,  my  Home, 

Thou  sole,  all-glorious  Bride, 
Creation  shouts  with  joy  to  see 

Thy  Bridegroom  at  thy  side : 

The  Man  yet  interceding, 

His  Hands  and  Feet  yet  bleeding, 
And  Him  the  billowy  hosts  adore 

LORD  GOD  for  evermore. 
And  "  Holy,  Holy,  Holy,"  cry 
The  choirs  that  crowd  thy  courts  on  high, 
Resounding  everlastingly, 

Jerusalem,  my  Home. 


254  HYMNS. 

Jerusalem,  my  Home, 

Where  saints  in  glory  reign, 
Thy  haven  safe  O  when  shall  I, 

Poor  storm-tossed  pilgrim,  gain  ? 

At  distance  dark  and  dreary, 

With  sin  and  sorrow  weary, 
For  thee  I  toil,  for  thee  I  pray, 

For  thee  I  long  alway. 
And  lo !  mine  eyes  shall  see  thee,  too : 
O  rend  in  twain,  thou  veil  of  blue, 
And  let  the  Golden  City  through, — 

Jerusalem,  my  Home ! 

1856. 


IN  HONOK  OF  THE  THEOTOKOS. 


Glory  to  God  the  Father  be, 
Who,  when  He  sent  His  Son  for  our  salvation, — 

When,  in  amazing  mystery, 
God  was  made  Man  in  wondrous  Incarnation, — 
Chose,  as  Mother  of  His  Child. 
Mary,  maiden  undefiled ; 
And  called  a  Virgin  pure  to  be 
The  Bringer-forth  of  GOD. 

Glory  to  God  the  Son,  who  came 
Down  from  His  Throne  and  choirs  of  Angels  holy, 

Veiling  His  form  of  brightest  flame, 
Hiding  Himself  within  a  maiden  lowly 


HYJfXS.  255 

Light  of  Light  in  darkness  lay, 
Clothed  Himself  with  mortal  clay ; 
And  made  a  Virgin  pure  to  be 
The  Bringer-forth  of  GOD. 

Glory  to  God  the  Holy  Ghost, 
Spirit  of  Power,  whose  Dove-like  form,  descending 

Swift  as  the  Wind  of  Pentecost, 
Breathed  on  a  Maiden  low  before  Him  bending : 
Fire  of  Life  and  Love  divine 
Found  in  Mary's  womb  a  Shrine ; 
And  made  a  Virgin  pure  to  be 
The  Bringer-forth  of  GOD. 

Glory  to  all  the  Three  in  One : 
Father,  who  chose  her  for  His  only  daughter ; 

Son,  who  in  flesh  became  her  Son ; 
Spirit,  who  more  than  spousal  dowry  brought  her. 
Threefold  Gift  of  grace  divine 
Crowned  the  Flower  of  David's  line, 
And  made  a  Virgin  pure  to  be 
The  Bringer-forth  of  GOD. 

Gabriel  came  to  Nazareth : 
"Hail,  blessed  Mary,  full  of  heavenly  favor, 

Now  is  THE  LORD  with  thee,"  he  saith: 
"  Thou  shalt  be  Mother  of  Thy  People's  Saviour ! " 
Thus  the  great  Archangel  meets, 
Thus  with  reverent  love  he  greets, 
The  Virgin  pure,  ordained  to  be 
The  Bringer-forth  of  GOD. 


256  HYMNS. 

Angels  appeared  at  Bethlehem, 
Lighting  the  dark  midnight  with  golden  splendor ; 

Shepherds,  in  wonder,  learn  from  them, 
Born  is  their  King,  their  Shepherd,  their  Defender ! 
Loud  the  harping  chorus  sang, 
Heaven  and  earth  with  rapture  rang, 
When  Mary  maiden  was  proclaimed 
The  Bringer-forth  of  GOD. 

Blessed  is  she  of  God  most  high ; 
Blessed  the  Angels  and  Archangels  call  her ; 

Blessed  her  own  words  prophesy ; 
Blessings  alone  in  earth  and  Heaven  befall  her ! 
All  good  Christians  then  unite, 
Shout  and  sing  with  all  your  might; 
"  Henceforth  forever  blessed  be 
The  Bringer-forth  of  GOD ! " 

1867. 


COME  WITH  US,  0  BLESSED  JESUS. 


Come  with  us,  O  blessed  Jesus, 

With  us  evermore  to  be ; 
And  in  leaving  now  Thine  Altar, 

O  let  us  not  leave  Thee ! 
Let  Thy  sweet  angel  chorus 

Not  cease  their  heavenly  strain, 
But  in  us,  Thy  loving  children, 

Bring  peace,  good  will  to  men. 


HYMNS.  257 

Thou  art  God  from  everlasting,— 

God  of  God  and  Light  of  Light  ; 
Thou  art  God,  Thy  glory  veiling, 

That  men  may  bear  the  sight. 
Beyond  these  walls  O  follow  us, 

Our  daily  life  to  share, 
That  in  us  Thy  great  and  glorious  Light 

May  shine  forth  everywhere. 

Thou  art  Man,  of  Mary  Virgin, 

Born  to-day  in  Bethlehem ; 
Thou  art  Man,  with  griefs  and  sorrows, 

And  thorns  for  a  diadem. 
For  ever  Thou  art  one  with  us, 

Our  Life,  our  Love  divine : 
Our  flesh  and  blood  art  Thou,  Lord  ; 

And  Thou  hast  given  us  Thine. 

Born  a  Babe,  yet  our  Creator ; 

Born  a  Babe,  yet  God  on  high  : 
Born  a  Babe,  O  Son  of  David, 

Thy  Kingdom  now  is  nigh. 
Before  Thy  Cross  victorious 

O  make  Thy  foes  to  fall, 
Till  the  whole  world  sing  Hosanna, 

And  own  Thee  Lord  of  all. 


258  HY3INS. 


WHEN  FROM  THE  EAST. 


When  from  the  East  the  Magi  came, 
Led  by  the  Star  of  Bethlehem, 
The  gifts  they  brought  to  Jesus  were 
Of  gold,  and  frankincense,  and  myrrh. 

Bright  gold  of  Ophir,  passing  fine, 
Proclaims  a  King  of  royal  line ; 
For  David's  Son,  in  David's  town, 
Is  born  the  heir  of  David's  crown. 

The  incense-clouds,  with  fragrance  rare, 
The  presence  of  a  God  declare ; 
Lo !  kings  in  adoration  fall, 
For  Mary's  Son  is  Lobd  of  all. 

The  myrrh,  with  bitter  taste,  foreshows 
A  life  of  sorrows,  wounds  and  woes ; — 
The  deadly  cup,  that  overran 
With  anguish  for  the  Son  of  Man. 

Our  gold  upon  Thine  Altar  lies ; 
Our  prayers  to  Thee,  as  incense,  rise ; 
Accept  as  myrrh  our  tears  and  sighs : 
O  King,  O  God,  O  Sacrifice ! 

1850. 


HYMNS.  259 


OUR  LORD  IS  RISEN  TO-DAY. 


Our  Lord  is  risen  to-day ! 

How  glad  th'  angelic  lay 
Resoundeth,  "  Alleluia! " 

Men,  too,  with  feebler  song, 

That  heavenly  strain  prolong, 
Repeating,  "  Alleluia !  " 

Through  darkest  realms  of  woe, 

Sweet  notes  of  mercy  go, 
Re-echoing  "  Alleluia  ! " 

Let  every  living  thing 

Therefore  break  forth  and  sing, 
Exultant,  "  Alleluia ! " 


Death  quenched  not  Light  of  light, 

He,  clad  in  matchless  might, 
To  deepest  hell  descended. 

He  preached  to  spirits  there ; 

And,  at  His  Word,  despair 
And  death  and  pain  are  ended. 

Out  through  the  gates  of  brass, 

The  new-born  armies  pass ; 
While  Saints,  in  raptured  chorus, 

Behold  that  host  draw  nigh, 

And  loud  "  Hosanna !  "  cry, — 
"All  hail,  Thou  King  victorious  ! " 


260  HY3WS. 

Before  the  dawning's  birth, 
Up  to  the  waiting  Earth 

Our  Jesus  swift  returneth. 
Through  that  same  stone  He  rose 
Fast  sealed  by  His  foes, — 

Their  malice  thus  He  scorneth. 
Earth  quaked  with  fear  and  dread, 
And  Roman  soldiers  fled, 

When,  clad  in  radiance  splendid, 
One  heavenly  hand  alone 
Rolled  back  the  mighty  stone, 

And  Death's  short  victory  ended ! 


Now  shining  Angels  tell 
How  bands  of  death  and  hell 

By  Him  were  burst  in  sunder. 
With  spices  in  their  hand, 
Lo !  holy  women  stand, 

And  list  in  thrilling  wonder : 
Then,  trembling  with  the  joy, 
Unto  the  Eleven  they  fly, 

That  men  also  may  greet  him ; 
"  The  Lord  is  risen,"  they  say, 
"  The  Lord  is  risen  to  day ; 

O,  go  ye  forth  to  meet  Him ! " 


Ascend  Thy  conquering  car, 
Thou  mighty  Man  of  War, 
With  all  thy  Saints  surrounded ! 


HYMNS.  261 

Shine  forth  in  perfect  day, 

And  let  Thy  loving  sway 
Spread  far  o'er  realms  unbounded : 

Till  to  the  lower  world 

Thy  deadly  foes  are  hurled, 
Cast  down,  to  rise  up  never ; 

And  Thou,  Immanuel, 

O'er  heaven,  and  earth,  and  hell 
Triumphant  reign  forever ! 

To  God  the  Father,  Son, 

And  Spirit,  Three  in  One, 
Eternal  praise  be  given, 

By  all  of  mortal  birth 

Within  the  Church  on  earth, 
And  countless  hosts  of  heaven : 

As  was  on  that  bright  morn 

"When  heaven  and  earth  were  born, 
And  songs  of  praise  ascended, 

Is  now,  and  shall  be  so, — 

Still  swelling  as  they  go, — 
When  Time  itself  is  ended ! 


1865. 


JESUS  LIVES!    0  MIGHTY  WONDER 


Jesus  lives  1     O  mighty  Wonder ! 

See  the  Lamb  once  slain  arise : 
Bands  of  death  He  bursts  in  sunder, 

Soars  aloft  through  clouds  and  skies. 


262  HYMNS. 

Now  the  rushing  Wind  is  blowing, 
Cloven  tongues  on  men  abide, — 

Life  and  Light  and  Joy  for  ever 
Flowing  from  the  Crucified. 

Jesus  lives !    Death's  sole  destroyer, 

Dead,  and  yet  alive,  is  He ; 
Stone,  and  seal,  and  linen  grave-clothes, 

Tell  the  tale  of  Victory. 
Through  the  wall  of  rock-hewn  cavern, 

Swift  as  sunbeam  through  the  glass, 
See  the  Saviour,  Death's  destroyer, 

See  our  conquering  Hero,  pass. 

Jesus  lives !    All  hell  is  trembling, 

Finding  now,  in  dire  alarm, 
Gates  of  brass  and  bars  of  iron 

Shattered  by  His  holy  arm. 
Throw  the  dungeon  doors  wide  open, 

Let  the  longing  prisoners  go  1 
Christ  leads  on :  His  ransomed  follow, 

Shouting  triumph  o'er  the  foe. 

Jesus  lives !    And  we,  His  members, 

Wherefore  should  we  fear  to  die  ? 
Graves  are  but  our  waiting  chambers, 

Till  the  Bridegroom  draweth  nigh. 
Therefore  let  our  loins  be  girded, 

Trimmed  our  lamps,  and  burning  bright ; 
Hark  the  cry : — "  Go  forth  to  meet  Him, 

All  ye  children  of  the  Light ! " 


HYMNS.  263 

Jesus  lives !    Why  then  be  anxious 

Where  we  lie  in  our  long  sleep  ? 
Towns,  or  plains,  or  hills,  or  valleys, 

Desert  wild,  or  ocean  deep, 
All  are  known  to  God  who  made  them, 

All  to  Him  are  holy  ground ; 
All  shall  hail  the  Angel  reapers, 

When  the  Judgment  trump  shall  sound. 

Jesus  lives !     His  life  partaking, 

All  His  Saints  with  Him  shall  rise ; 
Death  can  only,  to  the  faithful, 

Ope  the  doors  of  Paradise. 
Here  our  nearest  and  our  dearest, 

One  by  one,  are  gone  before ; 
There  shall  soon  their  swelling  number 

Welcome  us,  to  part  no  more. 

Jesus  lives !     O  King  of  Glory, 

Reigning  on  Thy  royal  throne, 
Dying  mortals,  we  implore  Thee, 

Saviour,  leave  us  not  alone ! 
Soon,  from  land  and  sea,  O  call  us, — 

Call  Thy  wandering  children  Home ; 
Even  so,  Thou  King  of  Glory, 
Come,  Lord  Jesu,  quickly  come ! 

1869. 


264  HYMNS. 

CHKIST    OUE    KING    TO    HEAVEN 
ASCENDETH. 


Christ  our  King  to  Heaven  ascendeth, 

Past  the  blue  sky's  utmost  bound ; 
Christ  our  King  to  Heaven  ascendeth, 

Clouds  of  Angels  close  Him  round. 
Alleluia,  Alleluia, 

Alleluia,  loud  they  cry : 
Christ  our  King  to  Heaven  ascendeth,— 

Glory  be  to  God  on  high ! 

Our  High-Priest  to  Heaven  ascendeth, 

Lo !  the  Lamb,  as  it  were  slain ! 
Our  High-Priest  to  Heaven  ascendeth, 

On  God's  Throne  He  lives  again, 
Pleads  His  Sacrifice  of  wonder, 

Claims  the  fruit  of  all  His  pain ; 
Our  High-Priest  to  Heaven  ascendeth, — 

Peace  on  earth,  good  will  to  men! 

Christ  our  Lord  to  Heaven  ascendeth, 

Cloven  tongues  of  fire  appear. 
Christ  our  Lord  to  Heaven  ascendeth, 

Lo !  the  rushing  Wind  is  here  ! 
Mighty  armies  forth  with  banners 

Conquering  and  to  conquer  go : 
Christ  our  Lord  to  Heaven  ascendeth, — 

He  shall  reign  o'er  all  below. 


HYMNS.  265 

Christ  now  reigns,  the  King  of  Glory, 

All  His  foes  before  Him  fall ; 
Chkist  now  reigns,  the  King  of  Glory, 

He  alone  is  all  in  all. 
King  of  kings  shall  men  behold  Him, 

Lord  of  lords  for  evermore : 
Christ  now  reigns,  the  King  of  Glory, 

Bow  before  Him,  and  adore ! 

1878. 


BLOW  ON,  THOU  MIGHTY  WIND. 


Blow  on,  Thou  mighty  Wind ! 

The  cloven  tongues  descending, 
Panned  by  Thy  dewy  Breath,  shall  blaze  and  burn, 

A  sacred  flame  unending. 

Soon  shall  that  Fire  behold 
Vile  earth  transformed  to  fine  wrought  gold; 

And  gloom  of  shadowy  night 
That  flame  shall  kindle  into  light : 
Therefore,  Thou  mighty  Wind,  blow  on. 

Blow  on,  Thou  mighty  Wind, 
And  waft  to  realms  unbounded 
The  notes  of  Faith  and  Hope  and  tender  Love 
The  Gospel  trump  hath  sounded. 


266  HYMNS. 

Those  sweetly  piercing  tones, 
That  charm  all  wars  and  tears  and  groans, 

Through  earth  and  sea  and  sky 
Upon  thy  rushing  wings  shall  fly : 
Therefore,  Thou  mighty  Wind,  blow  on. 

Blow  on,  Thou  mighty  Wind ; 

For,  tempest-tossed  and  lonely, 
The  Church  upon  the  rolling  billows  rides, 

And  trusts  in  Thy  Breath  only. 

She  spreads  her  swelling  sails 
For  Thee  to  fill  with  favoring  gales, 

Till,  through  the  stormy  sea, 
Thou  bring  her  home  where  she  would  be : 
Therefore,  Thou  mighty  Wind,  blow  on. 

Blow  on,  Thou  mighty  Wind, 

On  hearts  contrite  and  broken, 
And  bring  in  quickening  power  the  gracious  words 

That  Jesu's  lips  have  spoken. 

Lo !  then,  from  death  and  sleep, 
The  listening  souls  to  life  shall  leap ; 

Then  Love  shall  reign  below, 
And  Joy  the  whole  wide  world  o'erflow : 
Therefore,  Thou  mighty  Wind,  blow  on. 

To  God  the  Father,  Son, 
By  all  in  earth  and  heaven, 
And  to  the  Holy  Spirit,  Three  in  One, 
Eternal  praise  be  given : 


HYMNS.  267 


As  once  triumphant  rang 
When  morning  stars  together  sang ; 

Is  now,  as  aye  before ; 
And  shall  be  so  for  evermore, 
World  without  end.     Amen.     Amen. 

1858. 


CORN,    WINE,   AND  OIL. 


Thee  we  praise,  0  God  of  Harvest, 

Thee  we  worship  and  adore ; 
Souls  and  bodies  Thou  createst, 

Thou  sustainest  with  Thy  store. 
Corn  on  boundless  prairies  growing, 
Wine  from  bursting  presses  flowing, 
Oil  its  radiance  glad  bestowing, 
These  Thou  givest  evermore. 

Corn  in  golden  sheaves  Thou  sendest, 

Staff  of  life  to  sons  of  men, 
Type  of  other  food,  and  nobler — 

Angels'  food — vouchsafed  again. 
Bread  from  Heaven,  Thine  its  leaven, 
Feeds  the  hungering  souls  of  mortals, 
Till,  from  out  the  shining  portals, 

Thou  shalt  come,  with  power,  to  reign. 


HYMNS. 

Wine  in  ruddy  flow  Thou  givest, 
Thou  Thyself  the  glorious  Yine ; 

Thine  the  clusters,  by  Thy  Passion 
Trodden  into  precious  Wine. 

Thus  appeareth  wine  that  cheereth 

God  and  man,  in  mystic  union ; 

Thirsting  souls,  in  sweet  communion, 
Drink,  and  thrill  with  love  divine. 

Oil  in  balmy  streams  Thou  pourest 

On  man's  wounds,  with  healing  wine ; 
In  the  Rock,  by  anguish  cloven, 

Joy  hath  found  its  holiest  shrine. 
Oil  of  gladness,  conquering  sadness, 
Laden  all  with  sweetest  spices, 
Everywhere  its  fragrance  rises, 
Through  all  glooms  its  lights  do  shine. 

Glory  to  the  God  of  harvest, 

Henceforth  and  for  ever  be; 
Threefold  gift  from  threefold  Giver, — 

One,  to  all  eternity : 
Truth  of  God  the  Father  holy, 
Love  of  God  the  Saviour  lowly, 
Joy  of  God  the  Spirit,  wholly 

Three  in  One  and  One  in  Three. 

1878. 


HYMNS.  269 

WAR-SONG    OF    THE    CHRISTIAN 
SOLDIER. 


Soldiers  !  gird  on  all  your  armor, 

Daily  watch,  and  strive,  and  pray ; 
Fight  the  fight  till  life  is  ended ; 

Draw  the  sword,  and  smite,  and  slay. 
Leading  your  triumphant  army, 

See  the  Cross  move  on  before ! 
When  His  Church  is  all  united, 

Christ  shall  reign  for  evermore. 

Hosts  of  darkness  prowl  around  us, — 

Thoughts  and  words  and  deeds  unclean,- 
Sundering,  murmuring,  undermining, 

Working  in  the  gloom  unseen. 
Light  shines  out  with  power  victorious, 

Sunbeams  dance  on  sea  and  shore ; 
Hosts  of  darkness  all  are  routed ; 

Light  is  King  for  evermore. 

Hosts  of  hatred  hurl  against  us 

Malice,  envy,  pride  and  scorn ; 
By  their  sects,  and  schisms,  and  errors, 

Lo !  the  seamless  Robe  is  torn. 
Love  beams  forth  with  mighty  sweetness, 

Jesu's  Blood  is  running  o'er; 
Hatred  quails,  and  shrinks,  and  changes: 

Love  is  King  for  evermore. 


270  HYMNS. 

Hosts  of  Satan,  tempting,  tainting, 

Foul  the  very  air  we  breathe ; — 
Striking,  stinging,  slandering,  lying, 

Swarming  up  from  hell  beneath. 
Fiery  chariots,  flaming  legions, 

Fill  our  heavens  with  flash  and  roar ; 
Hosts  of  Satan  flee  confounded : 

Christ  is  King  for  evermore. 

1869. 


PKOCESSIONAL    OF    THE    CHRISTIAN 
PILGRIMAGE. 


Forth  from  Egypt's  house  of  bondage, 
Calls  us  now  the  God  of  Love : 

See,  the  cloudy,  fiery  Pillar 
Marshalls  us  the  way  we  move ! 
God's  right  hand  and  holy  arm 
Smote  the  realm  that  wrought  us  harm ; 

Many  a  sign  and  mighty  wonder 

Burst  the  tyrant's  bands  in  sunder. 

When  the  sea  spread  out  before  us, 

And  behind  us  raged  our  foe, 
"Walls  of  waves  stood  firm  as  crystal, 

Till  the  ransomed  Tribes  passed  through. 


HYirxs.  271 

Pharaoh's  hordes  at  morn  were  found 

In  the  roaring  waters  drowned ; 
While,  with  timbrels  and  with  dances, 
Our  exulting  host  advances. 

From  the  top  of  stony  Sinai 

God  declares  His  perfect  Law  : 
Trumpet  tones  and  fires  and  thunders 

Thrill  the  soul  with  trembling  awe. 

There  the  thirsting  Flock  complain  ; 

There  the  Rock  is  cleft  in  twain : 
And  wherever  Israel  goeth, 
Lo,  the  Living  Water  floweth  ! 

On  the  Altar,  morn  and  evening, 

Smokes  the  daily  Sacrifice : 
Every  dawn  the  luscious  manna 

Freshly  greets  our  longing  eyes. 

O'er  the  golden  Mercy-seat 

Floats  the  cloud  of  incense  sweet ; 
While  the  King,  once  slain  and  gory, 
Fills  the  silence  with  His  glory. 

On  before  Him,  in  their  order, 

March  the  priests,  in  rich  array ; 
Loudly  peal  their  silver  trumpets, 

Signalling  our  onward  way. 

Israel's  ranks,  in  armor  tried, 

Flash  afar  on  every  side, 
Standards  set,  and  banners  flying, 
All  the  foes  of  God  defying. 


272  HYMNS. 

Drought  and  pestilence  surround  U9 ; 

Sinners  tempt,  and  fiends  deride : 
Midst  the  fiery  flying  serpents 

Lift  we  up  the  Crucified ! 

Murmurers,  cowards,  rebels,  drones, 

Pave  the  desert  with  their  bones : 
Lasts  our  Pilgrimage  the  longer? 
Purer  grows  our  host,  and  stronger ! 

What  to  us  the  scorns  of  Edom  ? 

What  the  swords  of  Amalek  ? 
While  the  prayerful  hands  are  lifted 

No  defeat  our  course  shall  check. 

Vain  are  Moab's  lustful  snares ; 

Vain  are  Balaam's  hireling  prayers: 
God's  eternal  truth  confessing, 
All  his  curses  turn  to  blessing. 

Now  behold !  the  swelling  Jordan 
Rears  aloft  his  watery  walls ; 

At  the  voice  of  Israel's  shouting, 
Jericho  in  ruin  falls. 
All  the  Promised  Land  is  ours, 
Fields,  and  folds,  and  royal  towers, 

Vineyards,  groves,  and  snowy  mountains, 

Seas,  and  ever-flowing  fountains. 

There,  enclosed  in  hills  of  beauty, 
Shining  like  a  jewelled  Bride, 

Stands  Jerusalem  the  Golden, 
All  her  portals  opened  wide. 


HYMNS.  273 


There  the  King,  upon  His  Throne, 
Sees  and  claims  us  for  his  own ; 
Clothes  us  with  His  glory  splendid : 
And  our  Pilgrimage  is  ended. 

Join  we  now  the  Angelic  chorus, 

Cherubim  and  Seraphim, 
Saints  in  light  gone  Home  before  us, 

Chaunting  their  triumphal  hymn : — 

Holy,  holy,  holy,  Lord, 

Three  in  One,  by  all  adored, 
Praise  to  Thy  eternal  merit, 
Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Spirit. 

1868. 


PROCESSIONAL    FOR    THE    RE-UNION 
OF    CHRISTENDOM. 


Lord,  now  round  Thy  Church  behold 

Countless  foes  assembling ; 
See,  in  Thy  divided  Fold, 

Fearfulness  and  trembling. 

Night  is  transitory, — 
Darkest  night  brings  in  the  morn : 
Now,  O  Christ,  O  Virgin-born, 

Come,  in  clouds  of  glory  1 


274  HYMNS. 

Rise,  Lord  God  of  Sabaoth  I 

Thy  right  hand  hath  crowned  Thee 
King  of  Saints  and  Angels  both: 

Call  Thine  armies  round  Thee. 

Shine  forth  in  Thy  splendor, 
Shine,  O  bright  Immanuel ! 
Thou  that  conquerest  Death  and  Hell, 

Thou  art  our  Defender. 

Vain  Thy  love,  that  long  hath  yearned ; 

Vain  thy  Blood,  long  flowing : 
Mercy  now  to  wrath  is  turned, 

Love  to  vengeance  glowing. 

From  the  Cross  that  bore  Thee 
Now  let  thunderbolts  flash  forth, 
Till  Thy  foes,  in  all  the  earth, 

Prostrate  fall  before  Thee. 

Smite  old  Egypt's  sevenfold  flood,— 

Dry  its  streams  unstable ; 
Smite  Assyria's  lustful  brood ; 

Smite  the  pride  of  Babel ; 

Break  the  bands  of  Edom, — 
Break  the  tyrant's  rod  of  power: 
Now,  in  one  triumphant  hour, 

Give  Thy  people  freedom ! 

Come,  O  God  the  Holy  Ghost! 

O  strong  Wind,  with  Thunder, 
Blow,  till  all  our  scattered  host 

Part  no  more  in  sunder. 


HYMNS.  275 

Light,  O  Flame  all-glorious, 
Light  once  more  Thy  tongues  of  fire : 
Breathe  on  us,  till  Thou  inspire 

Thine  own  Love  victorious. 

O  thou  East,  take,  as  of  yore, 

Thy  primeval  glory ; 
O  thou  West,  renew  once  more 

All  thine  ancient  story ; 

O  ye  Isles  of  Ocean, 
Earth's  remotest  ends,  rejoice  : 
Now  the  Bride  sends  forth  her  voice, 

"  Come,"  saith  Christ's  own  Chosen. 

One  His  Body  aye  must  be ; 

One  its  Spirit  ever ; 
One  Hope, — immortality ; 

One  Love, — failing  nev.er; 

One  Lord,  Christ  our  Saviour ; 
One  our  Faith ;  our  Baptism  one; 
One  the  Father,  Spirit,  Son, — 

One  God,  blest  forever ! 

1867. 


276  HYMNS. 


NATIONAL   HYMN. 


God  of  our  Fathers, 

Bless  this  Thy  land; 
Ocean  to  ocean 

Owneth  Thy  hand. 
Home  of  all  nations 

From  far  and  near, 
Give,  to  unite  us, 

Thy  faith  and  fear. 
God  of  our  Fathers, 

Failing  us  never, 
God  of  our  Fathers, 

Be  ours  for  ever. 


Lord  God  of  Sabaoth, 

Mighty  in  war, 
Boundless  and  numberless 

Thine  armies  are. 
Thy  right  hand  conquereth 

All  that  oppose ; 
Launch  forth  Thy  thunderbolts, 

Smite  down  our  foes ! 
Lord  God  of  Sabaoth, 

Failing  us  never, 
Lord  God  of  Sabaoth, 

Fight  for  us  ever. 


HYMNS.  277 


Lord  God  our  Saviour, 

Thy  love  o'erflows, 
Making  our  wilderness 

Bloom  as  the  rose. 
Thou  with  true  liberty 

Makest  us  free, — 
Knowing  no  master, 

No  king,  but  Thee ! 
Lord  God  our  Saviour, 

Failing  us  never, 
Lord  God  our  Saviour, 

Reign  Thou  for  ever. 

Spirit  of  Unity, 

Crown  of  all  kings, 
Find  us  a  resting-place 

Under  Thy  wings ! 
By  Thine  own  Presence 

Thy  will  be  done, — 
Millions  of  free  men 

Banded  as  One. 
Lord  God  Almighty, 

Failing  us  never, 
Thine  be  the  glory, 

Now  and  for  ever. 


1861. 


HYMNS   WRITTEN   EXPRESSLY 

FOB 

German  C&orals,* 


HIGH   TOWER   AND    STRONGHOLD. 


German  Choral  :    @{n'  fcflc  35urg. 


High  Tower  and  Stronghold  is  our  God, 

Both  Sword  and  Shield  before  us ; 
His  hand  hath  broken  every  rod 
That  tyrants  have  held  o'er  us. 

The  proud,  conquering  Foe 
His  downfall  shall  know : 
His  malice  in  vain, 
With  furious  wrath,  shall  reign 
O'er  earth  with  power  appalling. 

Of  our  own  selves  we  nought  can  do, — 

Our  gain  were  then  but  losing : 

For  us  must  fight  the  Strong  and  True, 

The  Man  of  God's  own  choosing, 

For  ever  the  same, 

Christ  Jesus  His  Name, 

THE  LORD  GOD  OF  HOSTS ! 

Then  where  are  earthly  boasts  ? 

All  foes  shall  fall  before  Him. 
*  See  Note  3. 


HYMNS.  279 

What  though  this  world  were  throng'd  with  fiends, 

All  ragiDg  to  confound  us  ? 
We  know  no  fear,  for  God  is  near, 
With  mightier  armies  round  us. 
The  world  and  its  king 
No  terrors  can  bring ; 
Their  threats  are  no  worth, 
Their  doom  shall  soon  go  forth : — 
One  word  fulfils  their  ruin. 


God's  Word  they  shall  themselves  let  stand, 

Nor  thanks  to  them  be  owing. 
God  is  with  us :  through  all  the  land 
His  mighty  Wind  is  blowing. 
O'er  life,  loss  and  gain, 
Earth's  pleasure  and  pain, 
The  wicked  have  power ; 
Yet  lasts  it  but  an  hour : 
The  Kingdom's  ours  for  ever  1 

To  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost, 

For  ever  be  outpouring 
All  glory,  from  the  heavenly  host, 
And  saints  on  earth  adoring ; 

Through  time's  utmost  bound 
That  chorus  resound, 
And  swell  evermore, 
Like  stormy  ocean's  roar, 
Through  endless  ages  rolling. 

1862. 


HYMNS, 


SLUMBEBEKS,   WAKE. 


Gbbman  Chorax  :    SBacfcet  auf. 


Sltjmberers,  wake,  the  Bridegroom  cometh ! 
Awake,  behold  the  Bridegroom  cometh  1 

Ye  Virgins,  wake  to  sleep  no  more. 
Midnight  hears  the  shouting  voices, 
And  at  the  thrilling  cry  rejoices ; 
Your  lamps  now  trim,  so  bright  of  yore. 
The  advancing  train  draws  nigh ; 
Lights  flash,  and  bridemen  cry, 
Alleluia : 
Sing  ye  also, 
Alleluia ; 
And  forth  to  meet  the  Bridegroom  go ! 

Zion  hears  the  exultant  singing, 
And  all  her  heart  with  joy  is  springing, 
She  wakes,  she  rises  from  her  gloom ; 
For  her  Spouse  comes  down  all-glorious, 
The  Strong  in  Grace,  in  Truth  Victorious, 
Her  Star  is  risen,  her  Light  is  come  I 
Haste  then,  ye  Virgins  fair, 
His  marriage-feast  to  share : 
Alleluia. 
Ye  too  shall  sing 
Alleluia, 
As  ye  go  forth  to  meet  your  King. 


HYMNS.  281 

Lamb  of  God  !    The  heavens  adore  Thee, 
And  men  and  angels  sing  before  Thee, 

With  harp  and  cymbals'  clearest  tone. 
Of  one  pearl  each  open  portal, 
Where  we  are  with  the  choirs  immortal, 
That  stand  around  the  great  white  Throne. 
Ten  thousand  thousand  tongues 
There  pour  triumphal  songs, 
Alleluia : 
Chanting  their  hymn 
Alleluia, 
With  Cherubim  and  Seraphim. 


Lo  1  the  Bride,  fair  as  the  morning, 
The  royal  crown  her  brow  adorning, — 

With  fine  wrought  gold  her  bright  robes  shine. 
On  her  breast  are  jewels  gleaming ; 
In  sevenfold  light  her  beauty  beaming 
Bids  welcome  to  her  Spouse  divine. 
Round  Him,  in  raiment  white, 
Sing  all  the  saints  in  light, 
Alleluia . 
On  that  blest  shore 
Alleluia 
Rolls  evermore  and  evermore. 

1866. 


HYMNS, 


ETEKNITY!    ETEKNITY! 


German  Choral  :    O  @wtg*dt!    Q>  @»fgfdt! 


Etebnity  !   Eternity ! 

How  long  art  thou,  Eternity  ? 

Swiftly,  to  gain  thy  boundless  shore, 

Time  hastens,  and  returns  no  more. 

Like  rivers  rolling  to  the  sea, 

So  our  brief  moments  flow  to  Thee : 

Ponder,  O  Man,  Eternity  ! 

Eternity!   Eternity! 

How  long  art  thou,  Eternity  ? 

No  spring  hast  thou,  no  autumn  gold, 

No  summer's  heat,  nor  winter's  cold ; 

No  infant  cry  begins  thy  day, 

Nor  age  nor  anguish  brings  decay : 

Ponder,  O  Man,  Eternity ! 

Eternity!  Eternity! 

How  long  art  thou,  Eternity  ? 

How  fearful  dark  in  endless  woe ! 

How  blest  where  joys  for  ever  flow ! 

God's  love  is  glad  and  glorious  light, 

His  wrath,  all  wailing,  death  and  night : 

Ponder,  O  Man,  Eternity ! 


HYMNS.  283 

Eternity!  Eternity! 

How  long  art  thou,  Eternity  ? 

O  Lord  my  God  !  here  pour  on  me 

Toil,  grief,  and  pain,  as  pleaseth  Thee, — 

Here,  fire  and  tempest  make  me  bear ; 

But  let  Thy  mercy  find  me  there : 

0  spare  me  in  Eternity ! 

1866. 


0  COME,   ETEENAL  WISDOM. 


Gekjian  Choral  :    ®ro#  tfi,  £err,  beim  ©ute. 


The  Greater  Antiphons,  for  the  eight  days  before  Christmas. 

0  Sapientia. 
O  come,  Eternal  Wisdom, 

Thou  Word  of  God  Most  High, 
Thou  Alpha  and  Omega, 

Thou  First  and  Last,  draw  nigh : 

With  power  and  loving  skill, 
All  things  alone  upholding, 
Thy  Gospel  now  unfolding, 

Teach  us  Thy  sacred  will. 

0  Adonai. 
0  come,  Lord  God  of  Israel, 

Who  Moses  didst  illume, 
And  in  the  Bush  on  Horeb 

Didst  burn  yet  not  consume: 


284:  HYMNS* 

Though  Sinai's  trump  ring  clear, 
O  cease  its  deadly  pealing ; 
Thy  Mercy  now  revealing, 

Let  Grace  and  Truth  appear. 

0  Radix  Jesse. 
O  come,  Thou  Root  of  Jesse, 

Thou  Bright  and  Morning  Star, 
Who  standest  for  an  ensign 

To  people  from  afar : 

Their  kings  in  silent  awe 
Shall  bow  themselves  before  Thee, 
And  Gentiles  shall  adore  Thee, — 

Thy  love  shall  be  their  law. 

0  Cla/ois  David. 
O  come,  Thou  Key  of  David, 

Hell  shall  its  conqueror  know ; 
The  pit  where  is  no  water 

Shall  let  Thy  prisoners  go : 

The  gates  of  brass  give  way, 
Their  bars  are  burst  in  sunder, 
And  new-born  hosts,  in  wonder, 

Come  forth  to  glorious  day. 

0  Oriens. 
O  come,  Thou  shining  Orient, 

Eternal  Light  unborn, 
Let  those  that  sit  in  darkness 

Behold  Thy  rising  morn : 


HYMNS.  285 


Deep  shades  of  death  and  night 
By  Thy  bright  beams  are  parted, — 
The  blind  and  broken-hearted 

Leap  into  life  and  light. 

0  Bex  Gentium. 
0  come,  Thou  King  of  Gentiles, 

King  David's  royal  Son, — 
Thou  Headstone  of  the  corner, 

Of  twain  thus  making  One ; — 

Thy  Hand  our  being  gave, 
Our  race  with  life  supplying ; 
That  race,  now  fall'n  and  dying, 

O  come,  redeem  and  save ! 

0  Emmanuel. 
O  come,  Thou  great  Immanuel, 

And  reign  in  every  heart ; 
Desire  of  all  the  nations, 

And  hope  of  all  Thou  art : 

Our  Saviour  and  our  King, 
Thy  power  no  longer  hiding, 
But  "  God  with  us  "  abiding, 

Thy  full  salvation  bring. 

0  Virgo  Virginum. 
0  Son  of  Mary  Virgin, 

God  from  Eternity, 
Before  Thee  was  none  like  Thee, 

Nor  after  shall  there  be. 


286  HYMNS. 

Lo !  He  Whom  heavens  adore, 
Redeems  a  world  revolted ; 
And  Man,  in  God  exalted, 

Shall  reign  for  evermore. 

1866. 


0    GOD    OP   LOVE. 


German  Choral  :    21$,  ®ott  unb  $tvr. 


O  God  of  love, 

Shine  from  above, 
With  mercy  strong  and  tender; 

Thy  sway  alone 

My  heart  would  own, 
My  King  and  my  Defender. 

When  sore  afraid, 

To  Thee  I  prayed ; 
And  soon,  from  Heaven  replying, 

Thy  Spirit's  Breath 

Wrought  life  from  death, 
And  gave  me  songs  for  sighing. 

All  foul  within, 
Laden  with  sin, 
And  helpless  bound  thereunder ; 


myjixs.  287 


Thy  pardon  came, 
With  word  of  flame, 
And  burst  my  bonds  in  sunder. 

Therefore  I  sing, 

O  Lord  and  King  ; 
My  heart  with  joy  o'erfloweth  : 

No  bliss  of  earth 

Hath  life  or  worth, 
Save  when  Thy  love  it  knoweth. 

Yet  is  my  heart 

Thine  but  in  part, 
And  o'er  it  oft  come  thronging 

Earth's  hopes  and  fears, 

Earth's  joys  and  tears, 
And  earthly  love  and  longing. 

O  purge  its  dross, 
By  Thine  own  Cross ; 

And  make  it,  Thou  Refiner, 
Through  pain,  more  pure, 
Through  storm,  more  sure, 

And  day  by  day  diviner. 

May  no  dark  stain 

In  me  remain, 
My  soul  from  Thee  to  sever ; 

Let  me  be  Thine, 

And  Thou  be  mine, 
For  ever  and  for  ever. 


1873. 


288  HYMNS, 


HOSAKNA,  HOSANNA,  HOSANNA! 


FOR  PALM  SUNDAY. 


Gbbman  Chobal  :    Seljooa,  3eljot>a,  3e&ot>a. 


Hosanna,  Hosanna,  Hosanna ! 
Thine  O  Jesu,  are  honor,  glory,  power. 
Amen,  Amen. 
Thy  King,  O  Salem,  comes  to  thee, 
Clothed  with  humility ; 
Meek  the  foal  He  draweth  nigh  on : 
Sing  for  joy,  O  Daughter  of  Zion, 
Alleluia.  Alleluia. 

Hosanna,  Hosanna,  Hosanna ! 
Son  of  David,  ascend  Thy  royal  throne. 
Amen,  Amen. 
Afar  to  earth's  remotest  end 

Let  Thy  loving  realm  extend, — 
Realm  no  powers  of  hell  can  sever : 
Thou  shalt  reign  for  ever  and  ever ! 
Alleluia,  Alleluia. 

Hosanna,  Hosanna,  Hosanna! 
Our  Redeemer  and  King  art  Thou  alone. 
Amen,  Amen. 
Strow  fresh  green  branches  o'er  the  clay, 
Spread  your  garments  in  His  way, 


HYMNS.  289 

Shout,  all  ye  that  go  before  Him, 
All  ye  following  after,  adore  Him : 
Alleluia,  Alleluia. 

Hosanna,  Hosanna,  Hosanna ! 
Thou,  O  Jesu,  art  King  of  saints  in  light. 
Amen,  Amen. 
Forth  from  the  Holy  City's  gate 
Pours  a  train  in  solemn  state ; 
Victor  palms,  triumphant  voices, 
Join  yon  host  that  coming  rejoices : 
Alleluia,  Alleluia. 

Hosanna,  Hosanna,  Hosanna! 
This  is  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  our  King. 
Amen,  Amen. 
Street  after  street  glad  tumult  fills, 
All  the  city  moves  and  thrills ; 
Hark  !  the  happy  children  crying, — 
Loud  and  clear  their  fellows  replying : 
Alleluia,  Alleluia. 

Hosanna,  Hosanna,  Hosanna ! 
Ope,  ye  doors,  for  the  King  of  Glory  comes. 
Amen,  Amen. 
He  heals  the  sick,  the  lame,  the  blind, 
Peace  He  gives  the  troubled  mind, 
Nay,  the  very  dead  He  raises  : 
Heaven  and  earth  re-echo  His  praises ! 
Alleluia,  Alleluia. 

1875. 

13 


290  HYMNS. 


0  JESU,  MY  SAVIOUR, 


FOR  GOOD  FRIDAY. 


German  Choral  :    2!d>  3efu,  £>efn  Stcrbcn. 


O  Jesu,  my  Saviour, 
Thine  agony  and  woe 

Healeth  all  the  sorrow 
That  man  can  ever  know. 


O  Jesu,  my  Saviour, 

The  Blood  that  Thou  hast  shed 
Cleanseth  from  transgression 

The  living  and  the  dead. 

O  Jesu,  my  Saviour, 

The  death  that  Thou  hast  died 
Giveth  life  to  all  men 

Who  love  the  Crucified. 

O  Jesu,  my  Saviour, 
By  Thy  victorious  power 

Death  is  slain  for  ever, 
And  hell  appals  no  more. 


HYMNS.  291 


0  Jesu,  my  Saviour, 
Now  throned  in  majesty, 

Thou  art  God  Almighty, 
Have  mercy  upon  me  I 


1868. 


CHRIST  IS  ARISEN. 


FOR  EASTER  DAY. 


German  Choral  :    6!)rifl  If*  erflan&m. 


Christ  is  arisen 

From  Death's  opened  prison : 
Be  merry  and  sing,  O  Israel, 
Christ  hath  conquered  Death  and  Hell. 
Alleluia. 

Were  He  not  our  Saviour, 
We  all  were  lost  for  ever : 
Now  that  He  is  risen  on  high, 
Lo  1  triumph  resounds  through  earth  and  sky. 
Alleluia, 
Alleluia,  Alleluia, 
Alleluia. 
Be  merry  and  sing,  O  Israel, 
Christ  hath  conquered  Death  and  Hell. 
Alleluia. 
1866. 


292  HYMNS. 


THOU  AKT  KING  OF  GLORY. 


FOR  EASTER. 


German  Choral  :    ©rmuntre  bi<b* 


0  Christ  our  King,  uplifted  high, 

The  Cross,  Thy  throne  of  splendor, 
To  Thee  now  draws  all  nations  nigh, — 

Their  Saviour  and  Defender. 
Thee,  Lobd  of  lords,  with  boundless  sway, 
Thee,  Kino  of  kings,  shall  all  obey : 

For  Thou  art  King  of  Glory, 

Let  all  the  Earth  adore  Thee  ! 

O  Christ  our  King,  descending  low, 
Through  Death's  tremendous  portal, 

Thy  voice  divine,  through  realms  of  woe, 
Proclaims  new  life  immortal. 

Hope  springs  once  more,  'mid  fires  and  pains, 

Thy  prisoners  leap  to  burst  their  chains : 
For  Thou  art  King  of  Glory, 
And  Hell  shall  bow  before  Thee ! 

O  Christ  our  King,  the  glassy  sea 

Upholds  a  shining  chorus, 
With  crowns  and  palms  encircling  Thee, 

And  thrones  of  state  victorious. 


HYMNS.  293 

Prostrate  they  fall,  in  reverence  meet, 
Casting  their  crowns  before  Thy  feet : 

For  Thou  art  King  of  Glory, 

And  all  Thy  Saints  adore  Thee  1 

O  Christ  our  King,  in  Heaven  Thy  home, 

With  harp  and  voice  unfailing, 
Angelic  hosts  surround  Thy  throne, 

With  wings  their  faces  veiling. 
Thee  God  of  God  sing  Cherubim, 
Thee  Light  of  Light  sing  Seraphim : 

For  Thou  art  King  of  Glory, 

The  Heaven  of  Heavens  adore  Thee ! 


O  Christ  our  King,  Thy  glorious  reign 

Unites  Thy  whole  creation, — 
Earth,  Hell,  and  Heaven,  Angels  and  Men, 

And  every  Constellation. 
Now  let  Thy  Bride,  bright  as  the  sun, 
With  Thee,  the  Lamb,  be  ever  One : 

For  Thou  art  King  of  Glory, 

Let  all  in  all  adore  Thee ! 


1875. 


294  HYMNS. 


0  FATHER,  FOUNT  OF  DEITY. 


German  Choral  :    3t(ic in  ®ott  in  tcr  fiat)'  fcl  <$bv'< 


O  Father,  Fount  of  Deity, 

Of  Majesty  unbounded, 
Whom  none  hath  seen,  and  none  can  see, 

With  darkest  cloud  surrounded : 
Thou  to  redeem  a  world  undone, 
Didst  send  Thine  own  Eternal  Son, 

Our  Saviour  now  and  ever. 


O  Jest/,  Lamb  once  crucified, 
How  great  Thy  loving-kindness, — 

Who  healest  all  our  sin  and  pride, 
Our  lameness  and  our  blindness: 

Good  Shepherd,  take  thy  wandering  sheep, 

And  them,  with  all  Thy  chosen,  keep 
Safe  in  Thy  Fold  for  ever. 

0  Holy  Spirit,  heavenly  Dove, 
With  quickening  power  descending, 

Thou  lamp  of  Light  and  fire  of  Love, 
Thou  Gift  of  joy  unending : 

Thy  sevenfold  gifts  to  us  impart, 

And  fill  each  loving,  trustful  heart 
With  Thine  own  Peace  for  ever. 


HYMNS.  295 


"  All  glory  be  to  God  on  high  I " 
Thus  swells  the  hyinn  sonorous 

From  Cherubim  and  Seraphim 
And  Saints'  triumphant  chorus, 

Like  many  waters'  mighty  roar, 

Resounding  on  the  eternal  shore 
For  ever  and  for  ever. 


1866. 


PRAISE  TO  THE  FATHER. 


German  Choral  :    £obc  ten  $errctt. 


Praise  to  the  Father,  the  glorious  King  of  Creation ! 
Swell  the  loud  chorus,  ye  chosen  of  every  nation !» 
O  my  soul,  wake ! 
Harp,  lute,  and  psaltery  take, 
Sound  forth  thy  true  adoration. 

Praise  to  the  Son  :  for  the  Cross  that  once  shamefully 

bore  Him, 
Now,  on  the  throne  of  His  power,  let  all  creatures  adore 
Him! 

Man  reigns  on  high  I 
Lo !  all  the  hosts  of  the  sky 
Bow  down  and  worship  before  Him ! 


296  HYMNS. 

Praise  to  the  Spikit,  Whose  strong,  rushing  Wind,  ever 

blowing, 
Still  through  the  world,  wheresoever  it  listeth,  is  going : 
Darkness  and  death 
Drink,  from  Thy  quickening  Breath, 
Life,  light  and  joy  overflowing. 

Lord  God  Almighty,  Creator,  Redeemer,  and  Giver, 
Thy  praise  resounds  by  the  shore  of  the  bright  crystal 
River : 

We,  too,  would  fain, 
Echoing  humbly  the  strain, 
Praise  Thee  for  ever  and  ever. 

1866. 


HEAR  OUR  PRAYER,  0  BLESSED  LORD. 


FOR  SUNDAY  EVENING. 


German  Choral  :    Sfebffcr  3cfu,  vote  ftn&  filer. 


Hear  our  prayer,  O  blessed  Lord  ! 

Grant  that  this  Thy  Word,  now  spoken, 
Which  our  outward  ears  have  heard, — 

Bread  for  dying  mortals  broken, — 
May,  by  Thine  own  grace  supernal, 
Feed  our  souls  to  life  eternal. 


HY3IXS.  297 

Though  we  leave  Thy  dwelling-place, 

Leave  us  not,  O  loving  Saviour ! 
Let  the  sunshine  of  Thy  face 

Dwell  within  our  hearts  for  ever : 
All  our  sins,  though  dear  and  pleasant, 
Flee  for  shame  when  Thou  art  present. 


Through  our  week-day  toil  and  care, 
Through  all  dangers  and  temptations, 

May  this  day  of  praise  and  prayer 

Breathe  Thy  strength  of  love  and  patience  ;- 

Keep  us  pure,  and  meek,  and  lowly ; 

Make  us  brave,  and  true,  and  holy. 


So  shall  we  at  last  be  found 
Over  sin  and  death  victorious ; 
'    By  Thy  loving  mercy  crowned ; 

Numbered  with  Thy  saints  all-glorious ; 
Where,  with  angel  choirs  attended, 
Songs  of  praise  are  never  ended. 

Holy  Father,  holy  Son, 

Holy  Spirit,  ever  blessed, — 

One  in  Three,  and  Three  in  One, 
Glory  be  to  Thee  addressed ; — 

Glory  here  on  earth  be  given ; 

Glory  by  the  hosts  of  Heaven. 

1881. 


298  HYMNS. 


JESUS,  MY  REDEEMER,  LIVES. 


Gebuax  Chobax  :    3efuS,  mctnc  Suoerfifcfet. 


Jesxts,  my  Redeemer,  lives, 
Naught  from  Him  my  soul  can  sever ; 

Bright  the  hope  this  promise  gives, 
I  with  Him  shall  live  for  ever : 

Shall  I  fear  then  ?   Can  the  Head 

Rise  and  leave  the  members  dead  ? 


Flesh  I  am,  and  therefore  must 
Enter  soon  Death's  gloomy  portal ; 

This  I  know :  but  from  the  dust 
I  shall  rise  to  life  immortal ; 

Then  at  my  Redeemer's  side 

I  shall  evermore  abide. 


God  Himself,  in  that  blest  place, 
Shall  a  glorious  body  give  me ; 

I  shall  see  my  Saviour's  face, 
To  His  arms  He  will  receive  me, — 

To  His  joyful  presence  raise, 

Evermore  on  Him  to  gaze ! 


HY1TNS.  299 

Mortals,  raise  your  souls  above 
Earthly  joys  and  fleeting  treasure; 

Yield  your  hearts  to  Him  in  love, 
Here  obey  your  Lord's  good  pleasure. 

Fix  your  thoughts  beyond  the  skies, 

Whither  ye  yourselves  would  rise. 

After  Louisa  von  Brandenburg. 


1866. 


THOU  SHALT  RISE. 


German  Choral  :    Slufcrftelm,  ia,  auferflcfjn  tofrft  ku. 


Thou  shalt  rise,  rny  flesh,  thou  shalt  arise  I 
New  life  shall  fill  thine  eyes ; 

Thy  life's  First  Giver 
Will  give  thee  life  for  ever ; — 

O  praise  His  Name ! 

Sown  in  faith,  thou  shalt  be  raised  again, 
When,  after  Death's  long  reign, 

Jesus  is  reaping 
The  seed  in  death  now  sleeping ; — 

O  praise  His  Name  ! 

Day  of  praise !  for  thee,  0  joyful  Day, 
My  flesh  in  hope  shall  stay ; 

And  when  I  number 
My  days  of  silent  slumber, 

Thou  wakest  me ! 


300  HYMNS* 

Then,  as  they  who  dream,  we  shall  arise, 
Immortal  to  the  skies ; 

And  on  that  morrow 
Shall  find  our  tears  and  sorrow 
All  past  and  gone ! 

Then,  with  countless  angels  we  shall  sing, 
Borne  on  triumphant  wing 

Through  Heaven  soaring, 
God's  Holy  Name  adoring 
For  evermore ! 

After  Klopstock. 
1866. 


DAYSPRING  OF  ETERMTY. 


German  Choral  :    2D£orgenglmt$  bcr  ®n>igfdt» 


Day-spring  of  Eternity, 
Brightness  of  the  Father's  glory, 

Dawn  on  us  that  we  may  see 
Clouds  and  darkness  flee  before  Thee ; 

Drive  afar,  with  conquering  might, 
All  our  night. 

Let  Thy  grace,  like  morning  dew, 
Fall  on  hearts  in  Thee  confiding ; 
Thy  sweet  comfort,  ever  new, 


HYMNS.  301 

Fill  our  souls  with  strength  abiding ; 
And  Thy  quickening  eyes  behold 
Thy  dear  Fold. 

Give  the  flame  of  love,  to  burn 
Till  the  bands  of  sin  it  breaketh, — 

Till  at  each  new  day's  return, 
Purer  light  my  soul  awaketh : 

0,  ere  twilight  come,  let  me 
Rise  to  Thee. 

Thou  Who  hast  gone  up  on  high, 
Grant  that,  when  Thy  trumpet  soundeth, — 

"When  with  glory,  in  the  sky, 
Thee  the  cloud  of  saints  surroundeth, — 

We  may  stand  among  Thine  own, 
Round  thy  Throne. 

Light  us  to  the  golden  shore, 
O  Thou  rising  Sun  of  Morning ! 

Lead  where  tears  shall  flow  no  more, 
Where  all  sighs  to  songs  are  turning, 
Where  Thy  glory  sheds  alway 
Perfect  day. 
1866. 


302  HYMNS. 


THOUGH  FAITH  AT  TIMES  MAY  WAVER. 


Gbbman  Chobal  :    3J*ag  and)  Me  fifcbe  wefncn. 


Though  Faith  at  times  may  waver, 
Yet  shall  the  day  appear, 
When  every  doubt  and  fear 

Shall  vanish,  and  for  ever. 


Though  Hope  may  seem  unfounded, 
Yet,  through  Death's  open  door, 
It  shall  triumphant  soar 

To  worlds  of  bliss  unbounded. 


Though  Love  now  weepeth  sorely, 
Yet  shall  it  shout  and  sing 
When  Christ,  our  crowned  King, 

Keturns  to  reign  in  glory. 


All  praises  be  addressed, 
Unto  the  Three  in  One, 
To  God  the  Father,  Son, 
And  Spirit  ever  blessed. 

After  F.  A.  Kbummacheb. 
1866. 


HYMNS.  303 


HOW  BRIGHT  APPEAKS   OUR  MORNING 
STAR! 


German  Choral  :    2Bic  fd)5n  kud>t't  uni  bet  SDfcorgcnflcrn. 


How  bright  appears  our  Morning  Star ! 
In  Grace  and  Truth  He  shines  from  far, 

With  giant  strength  and  splendor : 
Good  Shepherd,  royal  David's  Son, 
Now  reigning  from  His  heavenly  throne, 

Our  God  and  our  Defender. 
Precious,  gracious,  ever  glorious 

And  victorious 

Is  my  Saviour  ; 
He  alone  is  King  for  ever. 


O  Crown  of  Beauty  clear  and  bright, 
Thou  God  of  God,  and  Light  of  Light, 

From  heaven  to  earth  descending, — 
My  heart  triumphant  joy  hath  found, 
It  thrills  at  Thy  sweet  Gospel's  sound, 

And  feels  Thy  life  unending. 
Keep  me  with  Thee,  ever  cleaving, 
Never  leaving, 
Dear  and  dearer, 
As  my  soul  to  Thee  draws  nearer. 


304  HYMNS, 

Thou  Brightness  of  the  Father's  face, 
Pour  in  my  heart  Thy  burning  rays, 

Till  love  there  kindle  glowing ; 
Then  feed  my  soul  on  heavenly  food, 
Thy  Word  and  Spirit,  Flesh  and  Blood, 

Their  inward  life  bestowing. 
Dear  Lord  Jesu,  Thine  arms  hold  me, 
And  enfold  me, 
Now  and  ever ! 
None  shall  pluck  me  thence ;  no,  never ! 


Then  sing  for  joy,  ye  sons  of  song, 
Your  loudest  organ-tones  prolong 

To  swell  the  exulting  chorus ! 
Our  praises  shall  resound  again, 
When  we  have  joined  the  shining  train 

Of  saints  gone  home  before  us. 
There  shall  we  all  sing  for  ever, 
And  for  ever, 
Alleluia, 
Alleluia,  Alleluia. 

1866. 


HYMNS,  305 


SALVATION  COMES. 


German  Choral  :    @$  ifl  ba&  $dl  un«  Eommcn  Ijcr. 


Salvation  comes !  O  Saviour  dear, 
Heaven  sang  -when  Mary  bore  Thee ; 

That  song  of  joy  true  shepherds  hear, 
They  seek  Thee  and  adore  Thee  ; 

Thy  star  when  eastern  kings  behold, 

They  haste  with  incense,  myrrh,  and  gold, 
To  worship  Thee  for  ever. 

Salvation  comes :  O  spotless  Lamb, 

Upon  Thine  altar  lying, — 
Thou  God  of  God,  Thou  great  I  AM, 

Thou  Victim,  bleeding,  dying, — 
For  us  Thy  Cross  of  shame  and  woe, 
For  us  the  Blood  and  Water  flow ; 

O  make  us  Thine  for  ever. 

Salvation  comes :  O  burst  the  bands 

Of  death  and  hell  in  sunder ! 
The  sealed  stone,  lo !  angel  hands 

Roll  back  with  earthquake-thunder; 
The  rising  God  comes  forth  again, 
He  rises,  Whom  our  sins  had  slain, — 

To  die  no  more  for  ever. 


306  HYMNS. 

Salvation  conies :  O  clouds  of  heaven 


Receive  your  Lord  ascending ! 
To  Him  alone  all  power  is  given, 

And  thrones  and  crowns  unending. 
O  JESU,  reign  through  earth  and  sky ; 
Thy  royal  banner  lift  on  high, 

And  be  our  King  for  ever. 


Salvation  comes :  O  rushing  Wind, 
O  cloven  Tongues  descending, — 

Our  blinded  sight,  our  darkened  mind, 
Enlightening  and  defending, — 

O  Comforter  and  Fire  of  Love, 

Thou  Gift  of  grace,  Thou  heavenly  Dove, 
Abide  with  us  for  ever. 


To  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost, 

All  glory  be  outpouring, — 
All  praise  from  heaven's  triumphant  host, 

And  saints  on  earth  adoring : 
All  praise  resound  eternally, 
As  was,  and  is,  and  yet  shall  be 

For  ever  and  for  ever. 


HYMNS.  307 

JESU,  FOUNT  OF  PLEASURE. 


German  Choral:    3efu,  mdne  ^rcut-c. 


Jesu,  Fount  of  Pleasure, 
Thou  my  soul's  chief  Treasure, 

Thou  my  Crown  shalt  be ! 
O  how  long  and  lonely, 
Filled  with  Thy  love  only, 

Yearns  my  heart  for  Thee ! 
Thou  art  mine,  and  I  am  Thine : 
Earth,  and  all  the  hosts  about  Thee, 

Were  but  nought  without  Thee. 

Vain  the  lion's  ramping, 
Vain  the  foes'  encamping, 

Jesu  fights  for  me: 
'Mid  the  mad  world's  roaring 
Here  I  stand,  outpouring 

Praises,  Lokd,  to  Thee ! 
His  great  might  holds  me  upright : 
Bowed  in  silent  awe  before  Him, 

Earth  and  hell  adore  Him. 

Farewell,  thou  that  choosest 
This  poor  earth,  and  losest 

Worlds  of  glory  bright ! 
Farewell,  sins  that  bind  me ; 
Buried  far  behind  me, 


308  HYMNS. 

Come  no  more  to  light  1 
Farewell,  life  of  pride  and  strife  1 
All  thy  prizes  I  surrender, — 

All  thy  pomp  and  splendor. 

Doubt  nor  fear  now  grieves  me ; 
Jesu's  presence  gives  me 

Light  and  joy  always: 
E'en  though  dark  and  fearful, 
In  true  hearts  and  cheerful, 

Sorrow  turns  to  praise. 
Though  my  name  bear  scorn  and  shame, 
Yet  while  Jesu  leaves  me  never, 

Joy  is  mine  for  ever. 
1866. 


JERUSALEM,    HIGH    TOWER    THY 
GLORIOUS   WALLS. 


German   Choral  :    Serufatem,  fcu  Ijod)gcbautc  <2tabt. 


Jebusalem,  high  tower  thy  glorious  walls, 

Would  God  I  were  in  thee ! 
My  heart  hath  gone  where  thy  fair  beauty  calls, 
And  dwells  no  more  in  me : 
Far  over  hill  and  mountain, 

Far  over  plain  and  dell, 
On  wings  of  rapture  soaring, 
It  bids  this  world  farewell ! 


HYMNS.  309 

O  day  of  joy,  and  hour  of  pure  delight — 

How  long  wilt  thou  delay  ? — 
When  peacefully  my  soul  may  take  its  flight, 
And  leave  this  load  of  clay, 
In  perfect  trust  reposing 

On  God's  Almighty  hand, 
Who  faithfully  shall  bring  it 
Home  to  its  Fatherland. 

Lo  !  from  the  tomb,  up  to  the  clouds  of  heaven, 

It  instantly  shall  soar, 
When,  hushed  in  death,  its  last  farewell  is  given, 
To  earth,  now  seen  no  more ; 
Elijah's  fiery  chariot 

In  triumph  it  shall  ride, 
Upborne  by  angel  armies, 
That  fly  on  every  side. 

Thy  gates  of  pearl  now  open  wide  to  me, 

Thou  City  of  the  Blest : 
To  me,  who  oft  have  longed  and  prayed  for  thee, 
And  thy  refreshing  rest, 
Ere  sighs,  and  tears,  and  sorrow, 

Ere  pain,  and  grief,  and  woe, 
Were  changed  to  this  rejoicing, 
That  all  thy  children  know. 

What  shining  host  is  this  that  comes  to  me, 

Drawn  up  in  bright  array  ? 
His  chosen  ones,  with  palms  of  victory, 

His  joy  and  crown  are  they. 


310  HYMNS. 

These  Jesus  sends  to  meet  me, 
To  calm  my  doubts  and  fears : 

From  far  they  smile,  and  greet  me, 
In  this  dark  vale  of  tears. 

And  now  behold  these  prophets,  priests,  and  kings, 

And  martyrs'  noble  band, 
Who  bore  the  Cross,  and  dared  the  torturings 
Of  tyrants  to  withstand ; 
See  them  in  glory  floating, 
In  freedom  everywhere, 
And,  swift  as  glittering  sunbeams, 
Move  radiant  through  the  air. 

In  Paradise,  among  the  saints  above, 
New  pleasures  I  shall  know, 
With  joy  divine  shall  my  triumphant  love 
In  songs  of  praise  o'erflow ; — 
Shall  join  the  full  hosannas 

That  echo  all  around, 
And  mighty  alleluias 
That  ever  there  resound. 

Clear  trumpet  tones,  and  harps  with  golden  strings, 

Those  countless  choirs  employ, 

So  loud  and  sweet,  heaven's  living  Temple  rings 

And  trembles  with  the  joy : — 

Ten  thousand  times  ten  thousand, 

A  sea  that  has  no  shore, — 

Whose  praise  in  thundering  billows 

Rolls  on  for  evermore. 

From  the  German  of  Meyfabt,  1590—1636. 
1862. 


Botes. 


Note  1,  Page  77. — Those  who  are  old  enough  to  remem- 
ber the  exciting  circumstances  of  "  The  Carey  Ordination" 
in  the  year  1843,  will  understand  the  allusions  in  this  little 
Allegory  without  assistance.  At  the  time  when  it  was 
written,  I  was  not  personally  acquainted  with  any  one 
connected  with  the  case,  except  Arthur  Carey  himself.  He 
had  been  my  class-mate  for  several  years  in  my  Father's 
house,  and  I  was  deeply  attached  to  him,  having  the 
highest  confidence  in  his  fidelity  to  the  Church.  The 
allusions  to  other  parties  were  based  only  on  what  I  read 
in  the  newspapers  at  the  time,  and  I  humbly  apologize  to 
them  and  their  friends,  if  they  think  that  any  undue  liberty 
has  been  taken. 

"Hughie"  is  the  Rev.  Hugh  Smith,  D.D.,  the  original 
discoverer  of  Arthur  Carey's  alleged  "  unsoundness,"  "  Ro- 
manizing," etc. 

"Harry"  is  the  Rev.  Henry  Anthon,  D.D.,  to  whom  Dr. 
Smith  went  for  advice  and  help,  and  who  supported  him 
throughout.  In  attributing  silence  to  him,  towards  the 
last,  there  is  a  benevolent  deviation  from  historic  accuracy. 
He  was  more  actively  persistent  in  his  course,  and  made 
himself  more  felt  by  far,  than  even  Dr.  Smith,  as  was 
natural  from  his  superior  ability  and  position. 

The  "  Squire  "  is  Bishop  Benjamin  T.  Onderdonk,  who, 
when  appealed  to  by  Drs.  Smith  and  Anthon,  appointed  a 
special  Committee  of  Examination — Arthur  Carey  having 


312  NOTES. 

already  passed  all  his  canonical  examinations— of  which 
Drs.  Smith  and  Anthon  were  both  members,  and  at  whose 
meetings  they  did  the  greater  part  of  the  questioning.  The 
result  was  satisfactory  to  every  member  of  the  Committee, 
except  the  two  original  complainants.  The  Ordination 
proceeded  "just  as  usual,"  notwithstanding  the  "protest" 
of  those  two.  The  other  persons  alluded  to  were  all  mem- 
bers of  that  Committee. 

"  Sammy"  is  the  Rev.  Samuel  Seabury,  D.D.,  one  of  the 
ablest  writers  and  theologians  whom  our  American  Church 
has  produced.  At  the  sessions  of  the  Committee  he  was 
prominent  in  shaping  the  examination  so  as  to  obviate  the 
exaggerated  suspicions  of  the  two  complainants. 

"Benny"  is  the  Rev.  Benjamin  I.  Haight,  D.D.,  then, 
and  for  the  rest  of  his  life,  one  of  the  leading  Clergy  in 
New  York  City.  At  the  first  outbreak  of  the  public  excite- 
ment, Dr.  Haight  preached  a  sermon  in  his  own  parish 
Church  of  All  Saints,  in  which  he  complained,  with  most 
indignant  earnestness,  of  the  aspersions  and  misrepresenta- 
tions so  excitedly  poured  forth  upon  Arthur  Carey,  who 
was  one  of  the  gentlest,  sweetest,  and  most  lovable  men  I 
have  ever  known,  of  perfect  transparency  and  integrity ; 
and  of  such  shrinking  modesty  and  delicacy  of  character, 
that  in  about  a  year  his  pure  spirit  left  a  world  which 
had  laid  upon  him  such  an  intolerable  burden  of  odious 
notoriety. 

"Willy"  is  the  Rev.  William  Berrian,  D.D.,  then  Rector 
of  Trinity  Church,  New  York,  who  at  all  times  adhered 
closely  to  Bishop  Onderdonk,  Dr.  Seabury,  and  their 
friends. 

"Joe"  is  the  Rev.  Joseph  H.  Price,  D.D.,  Rector  of  St. 
Stephen's  Church,  who  also  preached  a  sermon  to  his  own 
people  in  the  height  of  the  storm.    He  had  acted  with 


NOTES.  313 

Carey's  friends,  and  along  with  them  had  been  the  subject 
of  virulent  onslaught.  The  newspaper  accounts  of  that 
sermon  stated,  that,  when  speaking  of  the  bitter  injustice 
of  the  suspicions  expressed,  that  he,  the  preacher,  was 
unfaithful  to  his  own  Church,  he  attested  his  sincerity  by 
bursting  into  tears. 

This  little  "skit" — HugMe's  Alarm— is  here  inserted, 
not  for  the  purpose  of  recalling,  much  less  reviving,  past 
animosities  ;  but  simply  as  a  convenient  way  of  leaving  on 
record  my  intellectual  and  theological  {not  moral  or  per- 
sonal) contempt  for  the  long  series  of  tempests-in-a-teapot 
about  "  Romanizing,"  etc. ,  which  have  so  constantly  agi- 
tated the  cap-strings  of  our  ecclesiastical  Mrs.  Grundys, 
for  these  forty  years  past. 


Note  2,  Page  87.— It  was  early  in  the  year  1851,  that 
my  Father,  the  first  Bishop  of  Vermont,  received  an 
invitation  from  the  then  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  (Sum- 
ner) to  take  part  in  celebrating,  in  England,  the  third 
Jubilee  of  the  Venerable  Society  for  the  Propagation  of  the 
Gospel  in  Foreign  Parts.  In  replying  to  that  invitation, 
which  he  did  at  once,  my  Father  made  the  first  suggestion 
of  such  a  gathering  as  the  Pan- Anglican  Council  or  Lam- 
beth Conference.  I  have  watched  carefully  all  our  leading 
English  and  American  Church  papers,  and  have  never  met, 
over  any  responsible  name,  the  slightest  pretension,  direct 
or  indirect,  to  any  earlier  published  suggestion  than  his. 
That  letter  of  my  Father's  was  printed  in  the  London 
Guardian  at  the  time.  And  that  it  was  not  unnoticed  may 
be  seen  from  the  words  of  the  Primus  of  the  Scottish 
Church,  addressed  to  his  Diocesan  Synod  on  the  2d  of 
October,  1867,  only  a  few  days  after  the  first  Lambeth 
14 


314  NOTES. 

Conference  had  adjourned,  and  while  the  subject  was  yet 
fresh  in  the  minds  of  all : — 


In  looking  to  the  origin  of  this  great  Conference,  it  is 
worthy  of  remark,  that,  although  it  met  at  Lambeth,  it 
was  not  suggested  or  initiated  by  the  Home  Bishops  of  the 
Church  of  England.  The  first  suggestion  of  such  a  Confer- 
ence with  which  I  am  acquainted,  appears  in  a  letter  many 
years  ago  from  the  American  Bishop  of  Vermont  to  the 
late  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  from  which  I  make  the 
following  extract : — 

"  I  fervently  hope  that  the  time  may  come  when  we 
shall  meet  in  the  good  old  fashion  of  Synodical  action. 
How  natural  and  how  reasonable  would  it  seem  to  be,  if, 
'in  a  time  of  controversy  and  division/  there  should  be  a 
Council  of  all  the  Bishops  in  communion  with  your  Grace  ; 
and  would  not  such  an  assemblage  exhibit  the  most  solemn, 
and,  under  God,  the  most  influential  aspect  of  strength 
and  unity  in  maintaining  the  true  Gospel  ?  It  is  my  own 
firm  belief,  that  such  a  measure  would  be  productive  of 
immense  advantage,  and  would  exercise  a  moral  influence 
far  beyond  that  of  any  secular  legislation." 

God's  time  was  not  then  come  for  such  a  meeting. 
Eighteen  years  [the  venerable  Primus  is  a  little  out  in  his 
reckoning ;  it  was  only  something  over  sixteen  years]  have 
passed  since  that  suggestion  was  offered  ;  and  now  the 
time  was  come,  a  time  of  even  greater  controversy  and 
division  than  when  those  words  were  penned,  and  I  had 
the  pleasure  and  privilege  of  sitting  by  the  side  of  that 
good  Bishop  of  Vermont,  now  the  Presiding  Bishop  of  the 
Church  in  the  United  States  of  America,  in  a  Council  of 
all  the  Bishops  in  communion  with  his  Grace  of  Canter- 
bury, when  his  fervent  hope  was  fully  realized. 


But  this  first  suggestion  from  my  Father  was  not  to  be 
left  entirely  solitary.  About  a  year  later,  in  1852,  the 
learned  and  earnest  Bishop  Whittingham,  of  Maryland, 
then  in  England,  repeated  the  suggestion  in  a  public 
speech,  which  gave  rise  to  some  discussion  on  both  sides  of 
the  water.  Still  later,  in  November,  1854,  Bishop  Fulford, 
the  first  Metropolitan  of  Montreal  (and  the  first  Anglican 


NOTES.  315 

Bishop  who  took  part  in  an  American  Consecration*  since 
we  received  the  Episcopate  from  the  Mother  Church), 
preached  the  sermon  at  the  consecration  of  the  venerable 
Horatio  Potter,  Bishop  of  New  York.  He  adverted  to  the 
New  Dogma  of  the  Immaculate  Conception  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin  Mary,  which  was  within  a  few  days  (December  the 
8th  of  that  same  year,  1854),  to  be  proclaimed  at  Rome ; 
and  in  that  connection  stated  the  yearning  of  earnest  spirits 
for  the  meeting  of  our  whole  reformed  Church  in  its  cor- 
porate capacity,  and  with  the  highest  formal  sanction,  in 
order  to  manifest  the  unity  of  her  members  in  every  quar- 
ter of  the  world.  In  commenting  on  this  sermon  a  few  days 
after  (December  7th),  The  Chtjkce:  Journal  said :  — 

With  all  our  heart  we  thank  the  Bishop  of  Montreal  for 
incorporating  this  true  idea  in  the  admirable  sermon 
preached  by  him  at  the  Consecration  of  our  Provisional 
Bishop.  It  was  right  that  this  course  should  be  urged  by 
an  English  Bishop  when  taking  part  in  the  consecration  of 
an  American  Bishop.  Let  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury 
invite  all  the  Bishops  of  the  reformed  Church  throughout 
the  world  to  assemble  in  Canterbury  Cathedral,  once  more 
to  protest  solemnly  against  this  new  "  blasphemous  fable 
and  dangerous  deceit  "  of  Rome,  and  to  reassert,  in  the  face 
of  the  whole  world,  the  ancient  Faith,  pure  and  undefiled, 

once  for  all  given  to  the  saints If  carried  out 

in  this  spirit,  the  great  Council  of  Canterbury  would  form 
not  only  a  more  auspicious,  but  also  a  more  important  era 
in  the  history  of  Christianity  than  any  Council  held  any- 
where in  the  Catholic  Church  for  more  than  a  thousand 
years. 

This  article  drew  forth  a  very  interesting  letter  from  that 
well-known  and  influential  English  layman,  Mr.  F.  H. 
Dickinson,  who  mentioned  that  a  friend  of  his,  a  member 
of  the  Lower  House  of  the  Convocation  of  Canterbury, 

*  This  was  the  Consecration  of  Bishop  Wainwright,  in  Trinity 
Church,  New  York,  on  the  10th  of  November,  1852. 


316  NOTES, 

"had  been  thinking  of  bringing  the  subject  before  the 
House,"  In  answering  some  inquiries  made  in  Mr.  Dick- 
inson's letter,  The  Church  Journal  stated  the  origin  of 
the  idea,  in  print,  to  have  been  in  the  Bishop  of  Vermont's 
letter ;  acknowledged  the  good  work  done  by  the  Bishops 
of  Maryland  and  Montreal  in  advocating  it,  the  latter  being 
the  first  to  connect  it  with  the  New  Dogma ;  and  reiterated, 
in  the  strongest  terms,  that  if  the  invitation  were  given  by 
the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  it  would  be  accepted  by  the 
American  Bishops.  This  opinion  was  given  with  the 
greatest  positiveness,  "  appealing  to  the  future  to  verify 
the  perfect  correctness  of  our  present  declarations."  Other 
articles  followed,  in  the  same  paper,  from  time  to  time, 
keeping  the  idea  before  the  mind  of  the  Church. 

Now  I  wrote  all  those  articles  in  The  Church  Journal 
myself,  being  the  leading  Editor  of  that  paper  at  the  time. 
I  had  derived  all  my  strong  convictions  on  the  subject  from 
my  Father.  The  Reunion  of  Christendom  was  a  favorite 
subject  of  longing  with  him.  As  long  ago  as  1835,  when 
he  published  his  work  on  The  Primitive  Church,  its  last 
Lecture  was  devoted  to  that  subject ;  and  towards  its  close 
he  drew  a  picture — in  fanciful  reverie — of  a  great  universal 
Council,  representing  all  who  profess  and  call  themselves 
Christians,  meeting  to  settle  their  differences  by  the  stand- 
ard of  Holy  Scripture  and  Apostolical  Tradition,  while  all 
parts  of  Christendom  should  meanwhile  be  fasting  and 
praying  for  the  restoration  of  Unity.  So  glorious  was  the 
thought,  so  entire  was  the  rapture  of  his  spirit  in  dwelling 
on  so  bright  a  consummation,  that  ere  he  finished  he  found 
the  tears  running  down  his  face  as  he  wrote.  It  was  the 
only  time  in  his  life  that  any  such  emotion  overcame  him 
while  engaged  in  his  labors  as  an  Author.  The  Pan- 
Anglican  he  regarded  as  only  one  of  the  preliminary  steps, 


NOTES.  317 

indispensable  to  the  other : — the  easiest  step  to  take,  and 
the  one  to  be  taken  first.  So  familiar  was  this  idea  to  me, 
and  so  dominant  was  the  thought  in  my  mind  at  the  time 
above  referred  to  (the  close  of  the  year  1853),  that,  when 
the  carrier  of  The  Church  Journal  applied  to  me  to 
write  some  verses  for  his  New  Year's  Address  at  the  open- 
ing of  the  year  1854,  that  was  the  chief  topic  to  which  I 
devoted  my  attention,  branching  out  from  an  allusion  to 
the  visit  of  the  English  Deputation  of  1853  to  our  General 
Convention  of  that  year.  The  portion  of  it  given  in  the 
body  of  this  volume,  is  all  that  referred  to  that  subject,  and 
is  reproduced  exactly  as  it  was  first  published.  The  ser- 
vice in  Canterbury  Cathedral,  indeed,  did  not  take  place 
in  1867,  but  was  realized  in  1878  at  the  second  meeting  of 
the  Conference, — the  procession  of  an  hundred  Bishops 
entering  by  the  western  portal  (which  is  very  seldom 
opened)  just  as  described.  If  I  were  writing  it  now, 
moreover,  I  should  omit  the  Scandinavian  Bishops  from 
the  list,  further  researches  having  satisfied  my  mind  that 
their  claim  to  a  valid  Episcopate  is  either  somewhat 
clouded  (as  in  Sweden),  or  untenable  (as  in  Norway  and 
Iceland).  But  such  as  it  is,  the  description  given  in  the 
text  may  interest  some  people  as  a  close  approximation  to 
a  prophecy  of  an  event  previously  unprecedented  in  the 
history  of  the  world,  and  yet  made  twenty-four  years  in 
advance  of  its  fulfilment,  with  a  very  fair  measure  of 
exactness,  even  in  details. 


Note  3,  Page  278.— In  several  of  the  twenty  Hymns 
here  given  as  "written  expressly  for  German  Chorals,"  I 
have  ventured  to  disregard  some  of  the  usual  ideas  in 


318  NOTES. 

regard  to  literary  property.  When  the  object  is,  to  provide 
something  suitable — in  some  degree — to  be  used  in  the 
worship  of  Almighty  God,  it  seems  to  be  very  small  busi- 
ness to  permit  that  object  to  be  embarrassed  by  the  punctilio 
of  literary  authorship.  I  have  therefore  made  no  scruple  to 
embody,  in  my  own  work,  such  lines  from  other  translations 
as  were  beyond  my  power  to  improve.  I  humbly  beg  pardon 
for  the  liberties  I  have  thus  taken  with  the  translations  of 
others :  and  if  my  part  of  the  work — when  sung  to  the 
particular  Choral  for  which  it  was  written — be  not  an 
improvement,  I  shall  cheerfully  suffer  any  punishment  of 
which  I  shall  be  thought  worthy.  I  embody,  in  this  one 
Note,  details  concerning  each  of  the  twenty  Hymns. 

High  Tower  and  Stronghold : — Luther's  grand  Choral, 
©in1  fefie  33urg,  of  which  he  wrote  both  words  and  music, 
is  the  most  famous  of  all  the  thousands  of  German  Hymns. 
The  translation  in  our  present  Hymnal  is  by  the  late 
Bishop  Whittingham,  of  Maryland,  —  one  of  the  most 
accomplished  Hymnologists  in  the  American  Church.  His 
collection  of  Hymnals  I  once  thought  to  be  the  most  exten- 
sive and  perfect  ever  made  in  this  country,  in  which  I 
showed  my  own  astonishing  ignorance,  for  I  have  since 
learned  that  there  are  collections  ten  times  as  extensive. 
But  music  is  an  art  that  he  had  not  cultivated  to  an  equal 
degree  ;  and  it  must  never  be  forgotten,  that  a  Hymn  is 
meant  to  be  sung,  and — in  cases  like  those  under  present 
consideration — it  is  to  be  sung  to  one  particular  melody. 
Now,  the  melody  of  Bin'  feste  Burg  begins  on  upper  D, — 
that  first  note  requiring  a  force  and  emphasis  almost  equal 
to  the  accented  note  which  follows  it.  To  begin  such  a 
melody  with  the  indefinite  article  is  hardly  the  best  imag- 
inable union  of  words  and  music. 


NOTES.  319 

A  Mountain  Fastness  is  our  God, 
will  not  be  found  very  singable  to  that  tune.     Miss  Wink- 
worth's  version  is  much  better,  in  that  first  line  : — 

God  is  our  stronghold  firm  and  sure. 

But  even  here,  the  syllable  " is"  is  rather  weak  to  take  the 

stress  of  the  first  accented  note  of  such  a  Hymn,  and  the 

repetition  of  adjectives  at  the  end  of  the  line  is  hardly  the 

best.      It  is  better  to  double  the  substantives,  especially 

when  Holy  Scripture  gives  us  both.    I  therefore  make  the 

first  line 

High  Tower  and  Stronghold  is  our  God, 

and  am  perfectly  willing  that  anybody  else  shall  make  it 
better,  who  can.     I  shall  rejoice  at  his  success. 

To  be  critical,  moreover,  in  regard  to  our  Hymnal  ver- 
sion, Burg  is  not  a  "Mountain  Fastness,"  which  would 
require  Berg  in  the  German:  but  it  is  a  "Tower"  or 
"Stronghold."  And  the  whole  structure  of  the  Hymn  in 
German,  as  well  as  of  the  46th  Psalm  on  which  it  is 
founded,  points  to  the  Incarnation — which  is  connected 
with  the  idea  of  a  Tower  or  Stronghold — made  not  without 
human  effort ;  whereas  the  other — like  the  term  Bock— is 
rather  connected  with  the  idea  of  absolute  Deity. 

In  the  words  of  this  Hymn  I  have  adopted  eight  lines, 
unaltered,  from  that  Hymnal  version,  and  seven  other 
lines  more  or  less  changed.  The  doxology  given  in  the 
Hymnal  is  not  in  the  original  German,  or  in  Bishop  Whit- 
tingham's  version.  It  was  altered  from  Dr.  Walter's 
CJwrals  and  Hymns,  to  which  I  contributed  it  in  the  year 
1866  :  but,  instead  of  improving  it,  the  compilers  of  the 
Hymnal  rather  spoiled  it,  even  putting  an  extra  syllable 
and  accent  into  one  line,  so  that  it  will  not  sing  well  to  its 
own  tune  1 


320  NOTES. 

Slumberers,  wake : — In  the  original  of  S©a$et  auf,  there 
are  only  three  stanzas.  Miss  Winkworth's  version  has 
been  used  by  me  to  the  extent  of  eight  lines  unaltered,  and 
six  lines  more  or  less  changed.  The  fourth  stanza  is 
entirely  my  own,  there  being  nothing  in  the  German  to 
correspond.  The  rhythm  of  the  last  line  but  one,  in  each 
stanza,  is  altered  from  Miss  Winkworth's  version,  to  suit 
the  older  and  better  form  of  the  melody. 


Eternity!  Eternity  /—From  Miss  Winkworth's  version 
of  D  Gtttngfett !  £)  (Sttrigfett !  I  have  borrowed  the  first  two 
lines,  and  the  last,  of  each  verse,— the  closing  line  being  a 
variation.  There  are,  besides  these,  only  a  few  slight  allu- 
sions in  common,  but  no  phrase  is  borrowed.  Miss  Wink- 
worth  gives  twelve  stanzas  of  pretty  close  translation. 


0  come,  Eternal  Wisdom :— In  writing  for  the  melody  of 
©top  tj?,  £err,  beine  ©itte,  I  have  not  attempted  any  version 
of  the  German  words  :  but  have  given  eight  stanzas,  each 
embodying,  somewhat  freely,  the  substance  of  one  of  the 
Greater  Antiphons  for  the  eight  days  before  Christmas. 
They  are  as  follows  : — 

O  Sapientia. 

0  Sapientia,  quae  ex  ore  Altissimi  prodisti,  attingens  a 
fine  usque  ad  finem,  fortiter  suaviterque  disponens  omnia : 
Veni  ad  doeendum  nos  viam  prudentiae. 

O  Adonai. 
0  Adonai,  et  Dux  domus  Israel,  qui  Moysi  in  igne  flam- 
mae  rubi  apparuisti,  et  ei  in  Sina  legem  dedisti :  Veni  ad 
redimendum  nos  in  orachio  extento. 


NOTES.  321 

O  Radix  Jesse. 
0  Radix  Jesse,  qui  stas  in  signum  populorum,  super  quern 
continebunt  reges  os  suum,  quern  Gentes  deprecabuntur : 
Veni  ad  liberandum  nos,  jam  noli  tardare. 

O  Clavis  David. 
0  Clavis  David,  et  Sceptrum  domus  Israel,  qui  aperis  et 
nemo  ciaudit,  claudis  et  nemo  aperit :  Veni  et  educ  vinctum 
de  domo  carceris,  sedentem  in  tenebris,  et  umbra  mortis. 

O  Oriens. 
0  Oriens,  Splendor  lucis  eternae,  et  Soljustitiae  :  Veni  et 
illumina  sedentes  in  tenebris,  et  umbra  mortis. 

O  Rex  Gentium. 
0  Rex  Gentium,  et  desideratus  earum,  Lapisque  angu- 
laris,  qui  facis  utraque  unum  :   Veni,  et  salva  hominem, 
quern  de  limo  formasti. 

O  Emmanuel. 
0  Emmanuel,  Rex,  et  Legifer  nosier,  Expectatio  Gentium, 
et  Salcator  earum :  Veni  ad  salvandum  nos,  Bomine  Deus 
noster. 

O  VlRGO   VlRGINUM. 

0  Virgo  Virginum,  quomodo  fiet  istudf  quia  nee  primam 
similem  visa  es,  nee  habere  sequentem.  Filiae  Hierusalem, 
quid  me  admvramini?  Divinum  est  mysterium  hoc  quod 
cemitis. 


0  God  of  Love : — These  words  have  hardly  a  faint  resem- 
blance to  those  of  21$,  ©ott  unb  $err. 


Hosanna,  Hosanna,  Hosanna  ! — The  words  of  the  Ger- 
man, Serosa,  Serosa,  Serosa,  are  not  here  translated  at  all. 


322  NOTES. 

They  are  a  Hymn  of  triumphant  joy  addressed  to  God 
absolutely.  The  doubled  Amen  and  Alleluia  are,  however, 
preserved  as  in  the  German.  All  the  rest  is  an  original 
Hymn  for  Palm  Sunday. 

0  Jesu,  my  Saviour  .-—These  words,  to  the  melody  of 
9t#  Scfu,  2>em  ©terkn,  are  not  a  translation. 


Christ  is  arisen  .--The  words  of  Cfrffl  if!  erjknbert,  to  a 
quaint  old  melody,  are  here  very  literally  translated. 


Thou  art  King  of  Glory  .-—The  original  words  of  ©rmuntre 
bicfj,  are  a  Hymn  on  the  Nativity.  There  is,  of  course,  no 
connection  between  that  and  this. 


0  Father,  Fount  of  Deity  /—This  Hymn  to  the  Trinity  is 
not  in  any  sense  a  translation  of  the  German  SWettt  ©ott  in 
ber  £i>$1  fei  (%. 

Praise  to  the  Father : — This  Hymn  to  the  Trinity  bears 
only  a  slight  resemblance,  in  the  first  two  stanzas,  to  the 
German  £ok  ben  £erre*u 


Hear  our  prayer,  0  Blessed  Lord  : — This  is  a  new  Hymn, 
written  to  the  melody  of  £iefcfler  Sefit,  it>ir  ftnb  §ier» 


Jesus,  my  Redeemer,  lives  : — Miss  Wink  worth  gives  eight 
stanzas  of  tins  Hymn,  beginning  with  this  same  line.    The 


NOTES.  323 

original,  3efu3,  mctne  BitDerjldjt,  contains  ten  stanzas.  In  the 
four  which  I  give,  I  have  taken  six  lines  unaltered  from 
Miss  Winkworth,  and  one  line  somewhat  changed. 


Thou  shalt  rise,  my  flesh,  thou  shalt  arise  ! — This  transla- 
tion of  Klopstock's  Sluferjle^n,  [a,  ouferfle^n  ttirfi  bu,  is  freely 
altered  from  that  given  in  Hymns  from  the  Land  of  Luther. 
Only  eight  lines  are  used  unchanged.  Is  it  not  extra- 
ordinary that  anybody,  writing  a  Hymn  to  be  sung  in 
English,  should  end  two  verses  consecutively  with  the 
burden,  "  Ah  /  praise  His  Name  ! "  Several  of  that 
author's  lines  are  even  so  faulty  that  they  will  not  fit 
the  music. 


Dayspring  of  Eternity : — From  Miss  Winkworth's  trans- 
lation of  2florgengtcm$  ber  ©ttigfett,  I  have  taken  two  lines 
unaltered,  and  one  line  much  changed.  All  the  rest  is 
really  a  new  translation,  more  faithful  to  the  original  in 
parts,  and  with  metre  that  fits  the  original  melody  more 
precisely. 

Though  Faith  at  times  may  waver  :— This  is  an  entirely 
new  translation  of  2ftag  audj  toe  £iebe  teeinen,  arranging  the 
three  Evangelical  Virtues  in  the  order  preferred  by  St.  Paul 
in  1  Cor.  xiii,  and  adding  a  Doxology. 


How  bright  appears  our  Morning  Star  /—This  is  a  new 
translation  of  S&te  ftyita  Ieudjt1*  un3  bcr  SWorgenjtern,— so  freely 
made  that  it  hardly  deserves  the  name  of  a  translation. 
The  last  stanza  is  an  entire  addition. 


324  NOTES. 

Salvation  comes : — The  first  words  are  the  only  connec- 
tion with  the  German,  (£3  tfi  bag  £eil  un$  fommen  §er,  which 
is  a  dismal  dissertation  on  "  Justification  by  Faith  only,"  in 
fourteen  stanzas. 


Jesu,  Fount  of  Pleasure  : — This  is  almost  wholly  a  new 
translation  of  four  out  of  the  six  stanzas  of  Sefu  meine  O^eube. 
Only  Jive  lines  are  borrowed,  altered,  from  the  version  in 
The  Chorale  Book  for  England. 


Jerusalem,  high  tower  thy  glorious  walls  :-^The  first  two 
lines  of  this  version  of  Serufalem,  bu  §odjgefcaute  <Stabt,  are 
taken  unchanged  from  Bishop  Whittingham's  transla- 
tion, in  our  present  Hymnal.  In  all  the  rest  of  the 
Hymn— which  is  a  close  translation—there  are  only  slight 
approximations. 


THE  END. 


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